I Was a Mother

Are you a list maker?

I am, and hopelessly so. To me, a to-do list is so much more than an agenda. It is the promise of a gloriously productive day, and a delicious feeling of accomplishment.

I started making to-do lists when I was twelve,

jotting everything from homework to wardrobe plans into a spiral notebook that became the map around which I would navigate my day. Every night before bed the list was carefully reviewed, and accomplished items crossed off with dramatic flair, like a knight thrusting the final stab into a smoldering, defeated dragon.

Twenty years and an infinite number of spiral notebooks later

I was still making to-lists, although they had begun to encounter an insurmountable problem.

The problem? I was a mother.

Every morning I woke to the sound of my alarm, the sight of a new list, and the motivation to tackle it.

Just as soon as I finished nursing the baby.

Once the baby was fed, I would be ready to go. Right after I packed the kids’ lunches, that is. And fixed their hair. And walked them to the bus.

I promised myself that I would start my list as soon as I got back from the bus.

And put away the breakfast dishes, of course. And sorted the laundry. And comb the gum out of my son’s hair. Then! Then I would be ready to go. Feed the baby again, pick playdough out of the carpet, and reattach Barbie’s head.

After that, and grocery shopping, I would be so productive.

Wow, was the bus back already?

I just needed to get homework started, then I would finally get myself started. Actually, I would get dinner started. And baths. And the bedtime routine…

I would nurse the baby again, and collapse into bed.

The day had ended, and my to-do list remained untouched.

It was not the smoldering, defeated dragon I hoped it would be. It was still breathing its fire and I was the defeated knight, incapable of rising to the challenge.

Or was I.

I looked again at my to-do list, and imagined it years down the road. It hadn’t changed, but everything around it had. There was far less laundry to be done, and no more messy piles of toys. Plastic dinosaurs no longer roamed my couch, and my cell phone wasn’t hiding in a box of Goldfish crackers.

Years ahead, invitations to tea parties have ceased, and the baby’s hungry cry has been replaced with quiet. Footed pajamas outgrown, bunk beds given away, and outside, the school bus passes without stopping.

Years from now there will be no more “Mom, I’m hungry!”

“Mom, this hurts!” “Mom, watch this!” “Look at me!” “Fix this!” “Play with me!” “Read to me!” “Change me!” “Carry me!” “Help me!”

“Mom, I love you.”

Motherhood is discovering that when I wake up tomorrow, my to-do list will still be there. But a day in the life of my children will be gone, and I will never get it back.

Margaret Thatcher once said, “Look at a day when you are supremely satisfied at the end. It's not a day when you lounge around doing nothing; it's when you've had everything to do, and you've done it."

Today, I had everything to do.

And I did it.

Today, I was a mother.