Hey Mama

Hey there, Mama. I see you.

I see you doing your best.

You're trying.

I see you.

I don't care if you breast or formula fed. If you're a soccer, baseball, ballet, or theater parent. I  don't care if the drive thru staff at McDonald's recognizes your car and knows your order. Or the Starbucks barista. Or the Target cashier.

I don't care if you get on the floor and play cars or dolls with them, or if you encourage them to play on their own. You can schedule their days down to the minute or leave long stretches of time.

You're doing a great job.

You can work out 14 times a week or just think about it five. Or not at all. You can wear leggings in public, or kitten heels and full-face makeup for preschool drop-off.

You can work, for yourself or someone else, or make managing your family your primary focus. You can be a room mom or a check writer. A PTA President, or an email sender. You can sell your kids school fundraisers for them, cookies, or nuts, or send them out to go door-to-door.

You can dress them in perfectly pressed linen, or mismatched socks. Or tutus. You can paint your son's nails, or cut your daughter's hair short. Buy them whatever shoes they're willing to wear, because they're better than nothing.

You're awesome, and you're trying, and you matter.

I see you, introvert mom, tattooed mom, crazy-colored hair mom. I see you, moms who fearfully send their children out into the world with a kiss and a prayer and hope that they turn out OK. The moms who fight their own battles every day, even when the enemy is winning. Even when the enemy is yourself. I see you, extroverted social butterfly.

You're so loved, and so needed, Mama.

We all have rough days, but aren't the good ones so very sweet?

Focus on the good days.

But on those rough ones? I see you.