But I love being a mom. I’m not always great at it—let’s be very clear about that. Sometimes I yell. I don’t enjoy playing make-believe, and I mostly leave the work of crawling on the floor and pushing Hot Wheels around the rug to Ken and the grandparents. Sometimes, I can get very caught up in my work and have a hard time focusing on what my son is saying. I think Minecraft is so boring. And while working on this essay very early Tuesday morning, my son got up before his alarm, and I almost cried in frustration at the lost 30 minutes of writing.

Yet, these large and small annoyances cannot cancel out how incredible it is watching this person I made with the help of my husband grow up . I could talk all day long about how wonderful he is—how smart and funny and beautiful and kind. I am a heart-eyed emoji for him. Thankfully, Ken and my mom are always game to talk about our number-one obsession, scroll through photos of when he was a teeny-tiny baby, or trade stories about the funny and cute things he does. Truly, I don’t think Ken and I ever laughed so much before we were parents, and Ken is a very funny guy.

I’m not saying it’s always perfect—not even close—but every day is guaranteed to contain at least a moment or two that make it all worthwhile: watching him make a good play at little league, overhearing him telling his papa a silly story, the feeling of his hot little hand in mine as we walk to school. He’s lying next to me right now while I write this essay, and I still can’t believe this beautiful boy is mine—at least for right now. (Also, I wish he would go in the living room with his dad, so I could have a moment of peace.)

My Instagram feed has been littered with memes using a lyric from the new Taylor Swift record: “I cry a lot, but I’m so productive.” “Moms can relate!” is the general consensus5, and I can, too. I’ve certainly shed many tears over the years while getting a lot of shit done. But there’s a lyric in the new Maggie Rogers song6 “Don’t Forget Me” that also reminds me of motherhood:

Take my money, wreck my Sundays

Love me 'til your next somebody

Oh, but promise me that whеn it's time to leave

Don't forgеt me

In Defense of Motherhood