It Was One of Those Nights

I just ate some cake. I wish I could say that I sliced a ladylike sized piece, and sat down with my cake and a glass of milk, but that is sadly, not the case. After the kidlets were tucked in bed and breathing deep breaths of restful sleep, I, with fork in hand, helped myself to what was left of Roo's (early) birthday cake. I ate until my tummy hurt, and then I drank milk (Bug's 2%, not the nonfat that I buy for myself) straight from the jug. It was not my proudest moment (or collection of moments), but it happened nonetheless.
I started to think, after the cake massacre, about the funk I am in...before Roo was born, I worried I'd love her enough. I loved Bug so much, and how could I ever love another being as much as I do, him? Then Roo was born, and the love was immeasurable. I worried I'd still be able to show Bug how much I loved him, while caring for a brand new baby.
Now the babies are getting older, and I know that I will never have to worry whether I love one child enough, or as much as the other. My heart aches when I think about how my life has changed over the past two and half years. I never knew I was capable of such a love, until becoming a mother.
My own mother, whom I love very much, recently advised me to not let being a mother define who I was as an individual. But it does define me. I am a mother. I'm Mama. I'm cuddles all night long. I'm bath-time with music. I'm playtime in the front yard and fort-building in the living room. I'm breasts full of milk, and kisses on ouchies. I'm a mother, and being beckoned by tiny cries at the moment. "Mama" does define me.
Even if that means the occasional cake-and-milk the unladylike way.