Motherhood is being struck anew by how dense the tiny nucleus of your life here: Here, in this room, two tiny humans tucked away in bed.

What if the parts you’ve discarded—the ones you’ve called extra, childish, frivolous—are the parts we’re all aching for?
What if your love of drawing, or dancing, or poetry, or baking, or baseball, or magic—is not silly, but sacred?