The weight of motherhood is nearly always noticeable on my shoulders. It can be heavy or light, depending on how I choose to carry the load.

I searched the house for lovey at bedtime, mumbling under my breath how I wished she would just leave the lovey on her bed in the mornings and then we wouldn’t have this problem at night grumble-sigh-huff-puff. Heavy load.  It was very attractive, my muttering and stomping around the house at half-past bedtime. In a lucky combination of one-part mommy intuition and two-parts desperation, I decided to peek inside this Dora backpack.


In that moment, my motherhood weight shifted to a different kind of heavy. The frantic searching under sofa cushions and in toy baskets came to a halt and the frustrated hurry seeped out of me in one long sigh. Because in that bag was more than just a Barbie laptop and a most valuable posession. In that bag was proof that she is watching me. A fuzzy image left over from the morning came to mind, of me packing my laptop into my bag and heading off to do some work.

She wants to be like me and that is a different kind of heavy load, one filled with purpose and importance. One that I cannot bear alone. I’m thankful I don’t have to.