Being Mommy

I’m sitting with a group of children in our playroom, and we’re dreaming. Fantasizing.

“When I grow up…” we chant. And every kid takes a turn, sharing her vision of adulthood. We’ve got aspiring principals and artists, photographers, hairstylists, pianists.

I deliberate. There are so many things I want to be when I grow up. Probably a teacher, definitely a writer. But when my turn comes, the truth trips off my tongue. “When I grow up, I’m going to be a mommy.”

My friends tell me it doesn’t count, duh, of course we’ll all be mothers. “But what will you really be?”