Motherhood

Motherhood is when every once in awhile you're laying in bed and about to fall asleep, when suddenly a thought pops into your head about a TV show you watched a long time ago, when a snake crawled into a baby's crib and ate him, and you suddenly have to get up and go check on the baby. Not because you actually think he's been eaten by a snake, or is being menaced by anything worse than giant dust bunnies, because if that were the case, telling yourself that the room has no vents except the one into your own room and giant snakes can't crawl in closed windows would put an end to the worry. You get up and go check on the baby because the world is a big scary place, and the baby is so small, and it's such a worrisome job to try and keep him safe and let him grow, all at the same time.

And when you've gotten out of bed and left your room and turned on the bathroom light for indirect illumination, you open the nursery door as quietly as you can, using the rhythm and technique you have perfected to minimize the squeak you keep telling yourself you should address with WD-40. You go in and look in the crib and there he is, all curled up sleeping, and you wonder how you could have ever made something so perfect. And there are no giant snakes around, just a few industrial sized dust bunnies, so it's time to sleep.