The Breaks I Take

They say the twenty-minute shower, the quiet drive with white noise on loop, the grocery run with a list half-remembered— these are our breaks. Tiny breaths between the cries, the diapers, the lullabies. And maybe they are. Maybe they’re not grand or luxurious, but sacred all the same. A moment not to escape, but to exist— as more than a mother, but still, always, one. I’ve read the comments, heard the pushback: “Those aren’t real breaks.” “We deserve more.” And I agree— but this is what I have. This is what I take. And I call it mine. Because my baby needs me— in ways that reach beyond logic. She won’t sleep without my warmth, won’t settle unless I’m near. And I love her for that. But it’s also why I hesitate. There’s a concert in a few months. A rare moment for me and my sister to reconnect. And still, I wonder if I’ll go. Not because I can’t— but because my baby might still be tethered to my heartbeat, still mapping her world by the sound of my voice. They say sleep training helps. But sometimes, it sounds like silence where there should be comfort. Like teaching her that I won’t always come. And maybe one day, she’ll need to learn that. But not today. Today, she is still small. Still learning what safe feels like. Still searching for me in every room she enters. Sometimes I feel guilty— that she won’t fall asleep alone, that I am always needed. That I can’t just hand her off without tears that echo in my chest. But I remind myself— she was never meant to do this alone. And neither was I. Still, I am told: “It’s okay to let her cry.” And I know that. I do. But crying isn’t just noise. It’s her first language. Her only way to say: Something doesn’t feel right. So I answer. Not always with perfection. But always with presence. To the mothers like me— who breastfeed on demand, who carry their babies close, who are told they’re doing it wrong— I see you. You’re not weak. You’re not spoiling. You’re not failing. You are honoring a connection so ancient, so sacred, it doesn’t need validation to be real. So yes, I take the breaks. I take the breath. I stand under hot water a little longer than I need to. I walk the grocery aisles like they’re quiet hallways in a house that belongs to only me. These are not everything. But they are something. And sometimes— something is enough.