Who are these small people that inhabit my life?
So perfect in their tininess
So complete in their perfection
It is impossible to believe that they came from me
That they exist because I exist
That they are part of some chain I have forged
links in and with and for

Do I ever miss holding my husband's hand?
My hand is always on a stroller
Or holding a juice box
It does everything but reach out to him as it always used to
But now there are four hands
Soft, sweet children's hand
That reach out to me for me to take, and squeeze
and kiss, as only a Mommy can

How do I work and take care of my kids?
I don't know
To leave them is to abandon perfection
To miss out on the most important
To force oneself to forget the ultimate sweetness
To leave your still beating heart
outside your body
until it is time to pick them up

Can I imagine not having children?
No, to not have them would be a lack too enormous

I now know what it is to do something great
with your life
And I have done something so great twice
We are the truly lucky ones