When I thought about my days and how I spent my time, all I saw were piles of dishes, an endless mountain of washing, picking up toys and books and markers and jackets and shoes and empty water bottles and paper artwork.
I’d thought motherhood was going to mean I’d get to enjoy my kids. I’d chosen to stay at home because I’d felt like this was where I was supposed to be—home with my kids. It had felt right. Yet, I’d never spent time enjoying them. I had to keep moving or the house and the day would collapse. When I did press pause and spend some time with my kids, it felt like I had to pay the price: catching up on housework; making up for the time I’d spent living my life.