Some people wake up to an alarm, others with the sun, but I wake up with the loud singing of a three-year-old. It’s both adorable and annoying. Hearing her sing out loud with such joy is healing for my inner child, who always second-guessed everything. A bit later, a baby babble joins the chorus. A scream… now I know for sure, I am not getting back to sleep.

Most of my days start this way. Braiding hair like I’m playing tug-of-war with a toddler who you could swear was forced to be there. She wasn’t; it was her request. Last-minute check-ins to make sure we haven’t missed anything, and a quick reassurance to our baby that I will indeed come back. I walk our daughter to and from Gan, braving the summer heat and bribing her with an ice pop in the afternoons. 

My walks are my time to think. No music or screaming children, just my feet hitting the pavement as I make my way home. Birds chirping, dogs barking, and the slight sway of the leaves in the ever-present mountain breeze. I recently became a full-time stay-at-home mom. After years of rearranging my schedule to fit a part-time job in between parenting, I am finally able to stay home with the kids full time. The days are busy, but getting outside has been an increasingly important part of my day. Sunshine to fend off the cabin fever and some exercise to get the endorphins flowing before being subjected to the whines of a one-year-old. 

I decided to finally do something about the broken stroller wheel, and after a bit of crowdsourcing, I ordered the exact same stroller in a different color. What can I say, we know it works. We also know it doesn’t last, but that’s a problem for future-us. Maybe then we will buy the Bugaboo. Who knows? After checking on dozens of stores, looking at many strollers, they all started to look the same, so we went with the familiar – it was just too much to think about. 

With all the logistics of everyday life – carrying the baby while I go into the other room, listening to her lecture me about wearing my scarf, using toilet paper, and turning on music – sometimes motherhood can feel a little thankless. It can be easy to feel invisible when you’ve walked into a room only to immediately forget why, because someone screamed “Mommy!”. It’s getting up for the third time in the middle of the meal because someone wants a cup with a straw; not a straw cup, not a water bottle, but a cup with a straw. It’s leaning over to hug and kiss your child only to have them swat away your hands because they’re busy. It’s cleaning up the living room crumbs and putting the toys back at the end of every day. When the kids are too tired, we carry them. Even when one meltdown is enough to send us over the edge. I pour my heart and soul into caring for my kids, into raising resilient, independent, confident, and capable children. 

But as capable and independent as they are, still, here they are pouring Honey Bunches of Oats all over the floor as a part of their afternoon snack. They ask for the same video again and again until my head can’t take it anymore, and I demand something else. They scream at each other and fight over the Magna-Tiles, each one wanting every last square. They giggle together because they can always find something to laugh at.

I think about how the small moments with my children are worth a celebration. There aren’t parties for when your child goes to sleep without leaving their room five times. No one gets a certificate for surviving a day with an exhausted toddler who melts down after being given exactly what they asked for. There isn’t a promotion after a grueling week of a teething baby drooling all over you, refusing to eat, and screaming the second the pain meds wear off.

I love this life, but all too often it feels unseen. The stacks of parenting books, the hours of research, and careful communication with my children. Restocking the shelves with the newest toy rotations. Making sure to have their latest snack obsession, only for them to refuse it the next day. Sometimes I feel like I am squandering my education, like my staying home is an admission that I failed. It sits within the small pause I have before answering “so, what do you do?”

But as my kids get up, clapping and dancing to the sound of our wedding video playing in the background, all I can think about are these precious moments. The laughter of my children giggling as they dance in a circle with their Abba. As they scream when we lift them up after they jump. As they dance and play, thrilled by the memories of our beginnings. I realize that I will not tie my worth to a job when I know that life is not for me. 

I am a successful woman because I have the autonomy to choose how I define success! 

To me, success is reflected through the eyes of my children. When my child feels safe in my arms, it does not matter what anyone else thinks. If they feel safe enough to cry, scream, and fall apart in my lap, it means that I am doing well. When they say “Mommy, I love you” and “Abba, you’re the best”, I know that these long days are making a difference. And if they want to dance with me to wedding music, I will happily abide, any day of the week.