This question stumbled out of my mouth amid a torrent of tears, to which my three-and-a-half year old had no response. 

There I was, cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen floor with tears spilling on my lap, spatula still in hand. It was approaching dinner time when the hubby would arrive home and we would all sit to a happy dinner together, at least that was the plan. Only I couldn’t pull myself out of my brokenness. 

"Why don't you appreciate me? Don't you love me?"

In the dead of sleep, one of the last things you like to hear is the sound of your child crying. However, this has been my experience on several occasions over the last few weeks.

My three year old has been experiencing what I believe to be growing pains. And, of course, like all good tragedies, they always happen in the middle of the night. What starts as a whimper quickly escalates as she wakes up to find herself in pain. The first words out of her mouth are a blessing and a curse: “Mama!” Why do Daddy’s not get called in for this? I guess we’ll never know.

There is one word, one four-letter word that I want my girls to know, to hear, to speak, and to embrace.

​Life. L. I. F. E.
​
A simple word with immense meaning and even greater implications for… well… life. But today, on this day and many in the past, it means very little.

There are remnants of your day everywhere: a pile of princess playing cards on my nightstand, Doc McStuffins on my dresser, shoes by the door. I can hear your voice echoing down the hallway in memory of you squealing in delight as you and daddy played.

​But I have to apologize. 

 I loved working. I loved my job. I really loved the company I worked for and the people I worked with. I was one of those people. Those people who thought staying at home when kids came along was unnecessary, certainly not for me, and maybe a little bit silly. I wasn’t an arrogant fool; I knew that, for some people, this was the best way to go. I just thought that for me I would be different. 

I am smart, I am personable, I am educated, and I was good at what I did. I was proud of what I did and it defined me. We knew we wanted kids but it would take an act, or many small acts, of God to change my mind about what that would all look like.