Peanut butter kisses and Cheeto’s fingerprints

There once was a time when I stayed up late and slept late on a regular basis.

There once was a time when the only bottom I wiped was my own.

There once was a time when I would go days without seeing anyone cry.

There once was a time when a jar of peanut butter lasted a month, and a gallon of milk lasted a week.

There once was a time when I had never smelled the sweet breath of a baby who just finished nursing.

There once was a time when none of my clothes had spit-up stains or Cheeto’s fingerprints on them.

There once was a time when a three bedroom house seemed too big for our family.

There once was a time when I thought that nursing, being a stay-at-home mom, having a lot of kids, and homeschooling were what hippies did.

There once was a time when I had never had a peanut butter kiss.

There once was a time when I never walked through the house and picked up feather boas, cardboard Burger King crowns, crying baby dolls, or tiny little flip flops.

There once was a time when the seats of my car did not know Cheerio crumbs, the windows did not know Barbie stickers, and the rearview mirror did not know Sharpie.

There once was a time when staying home all day would have been boring.

There once was a time when no one had made up a song about me that said, “My Mommy loves me and I love her and Mommy is her name-o!”

There once was a time when I never thought twice about saying the word “stupid.”

There once was a time when I went to restaurants and actually spent the whole time at the table instead of serving as a potty escort three times.

There once was a time when swings and slides were simply a part of my distant past.

There once was a time when going to Kroger didn’t require two carts.

There once was a time when I honestly didn’t care how well-staffed the nursery was.

There once was a time when I had no clue how big a role Disney Princesses would play in my future.

There once was a time when I had never unashamedly sung “The Wheels on the Bus” over and over again in a crowded restaurant.

There once was a time when the words “Bob Nunnos,” “leg remmy,” and “Aunt Gertie” simply didn’t exist in my vocabulary.

There once was a time when “Mommy” referred to someone else.

There once was a time when Abigail, Catherine, Elisabeth, and Samuel were just names of various people throughout history.

There once was a time when I lived life mostly for myself.

Now I am the one called Mommy. I wouldn’t go back to that other time for anything in the world. Thank you, Abigail Nicole. Thank you, Catherine Grace. Thank you, Elisabeth Anne. Thank you, Samuel Frederic. Thank you for making me a Mommy and for a great reason to celebrate Mother’s Day. I love you all more than I can say and I love being your Mommy.

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