Good Golly, Mister! Prolly!?!

I love my daughter. She is the light. She is smart and beautiful and fun and has a wicked sense of humor. She just gets it. She has built such depth into my life, the likes of which I could never have imagined. She is my little best friend. She is my blessing. She is my teacher.

I got an email yesterday from a dear friend of mine, a very smart and successful woman; an out-of-the-box-thinking maverick. Friend has just had her second babe. Friend's first born is just over two. Friend says what so many moms think. Hearing her say it was like the warm afternoon breeze drifting into your room, reminding you that you are part of something greater; reminding you that you are alive. Friend tells me that she is finally getting her head above water—kinda— and that she's "hanging in there but, honestly, there are days when the thought of escaping to somewhere in the middle of nowhere and just forgetting this entire part of my life exists seems like heaven."

Her words of truth capture what so many moms think, whether it's whilst drudging through the mud of postpartumdom or on a day-to-day basis. I defy any mom to tell me that at some point in her life, she's not had that thought.

When you become a mom, you're name changes—and you're entire identity and raison d'etre does, too. It's wonderful (see top of this post) and it's horrifying, frustrating, lonely, confusing and insert your here.

From time to time, I have had that swirling, is-that-thought-really-happening? thought about leaving this part of my life—and then I wonder if I could actually do it and then I get upset and spiral into thinking about how much I suck for not only having the thought, but giving it any energy at all. Don't I know better than to give into such menacing thoughts?

It's almost like a sicko test I do to myself to see what I am really made of. I remember when Scarlett was a newborn I used to have a real panic that I'd be one of those moms who up and leaves her family. I used to tell Shawn that I feared that would happen to me or worse, I'd be one of those moms who just goes crazy. He'd say that if I feared I could go crazy then I'd just drive myself crazy, so I should stop worrying about it because it probably (hear: "prolly"—"probably" said very quickly) wouldn't happen.

The "prolly" part was not so reassuring, but it made me laugh because that's just Shawn: a real no-frills, non hyperbolic guy. I wanted him to say "No way, Jose, you'd never go crazy!" or "You'd never do something like that!" But, alas, Shawn is a scientist with impeccable use of his words. He rarely says "never" or "always."

Anyway, the essence of Shawn's being as it was encapsulated in the word "prolly" made me laugh. So every time I'd have the fear, I'd say to myself: "it's prolly not going to happen" and kind of chuckle-to-self. It released me from the grips of panic.

So dear moms—and dads, too—out there, I just want to say that we're all in this together, thinking the same things, feeling the same things, fearing the same things, loving the same things and growing the same—dang personal and spiritual evolution!

And if it helps, I am here to say that even when there is a moment when the light seems gone, when you the fear seeps in and you wonder if you can really do your life as it is today, just remember that you 100% absolutely can do it....prolly.