As I set my sweet, milk-filled, and fast asleep three week-old son down in his bassinet and pick up the baskets overflowing with clean laundry,
As I hang and organize dress pants and dress shirts for my hard-working husband and pack his bags for flights and interviews,
As I spread chunky peanut butter and grape jam over rolls and carry them to my daughter's seat at the table,
I remember that I don't come first. And I'm okay with that.
In a culture obsessed with treating yo'self and making yourself your number one priority, people panic. Images of a frazzled, over-worked, over-tired mama who can't remember her last shower; the first ten minutes of the movie Mom's Night Out; the postpartum depression that leads to lapses of sanity like The Yellow Wallpaper.
No, that's not what I mean.
My job as a mother is to care for my family. And I'm a part of that family, so I care for myself. But I don't come first. And I hope my children know that. Not so they feel guilt for my sacrifice, but so that they will understand my love for them and be filled with the same love for others. Because the reality of love is that none of us come first in our own lives. And if we were all okay with that, our world would be a much more beautiful place.