Moms don’t get days off

“So, would you do it again?” She asks. The salty breeze brushes against our faces as we stroll along the beach, our babies nestled against us in their carriers.

“If I could turn back time, you mean?”

“Yeah. Would you still have a baby, knowing what you know now?”

I hesitate. “I’m not sure…” A pang of guilt tightens in my chest.

“A part of me screams, No! But just the thought of a life without my son makes my heart ache. There are so many incredible things about motherhood, and a kind of love I never imagined. But I also didn’t think it would be this hard. I knew we’d have sleepless nights, that we’d need a babysitter when we wanted a night out. But you’re never not a mom. And that weight, the weight of constant responsibility, it’s suffocating.

You can’t stay in bed when you’re sick. Your child still needs breakfast. Still needs to be dressed. Still needs to be played with. You can’t just decide to go out for an evening. And even when you do go out, even when you’re not checking off items on your never-ending list of chores, the mental load is always there, lurking. It’s a constant hum, reminding you of everything you still need to do. It plants worries in your head, little seeds of doubt. Did I feed him enough today? Was it varied enough, healthy enough? Did he get enough fresh air? Does that rash need a doctor’s attention? The worry, the exhaustion, it never stops.

We walk in silence for a moment, the sound of the waves a distant echo as we each retreat into our own thoughts.

“I just wish I didn’t have to be ‘on’ all the time,” I finally say, my voice soft but heavy. “When we’re together, I just want to play and cuddle. When I’m alone, I just want to take care of myself. But I can’t enjoy any of it. My mind is always racing, always jumping to the next task, the next responsibility.”

“Sometimes I wish I were the dad,” my friend replies, her voice tinged with frustration.

I laugh, the sound of it breaking the tension in my chest. “Oh, God, yes!”, wondering if something like ‘dad guilt’ even exists.

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