You Are My Sunshine: A Sweet Story On Motherhood

Here in Colorado, the spring is like a fairy: beautiful, teasing, and shy.

She'll show her face every few days, kissing the earth with sun and beckoning the tulips from the soil. But the next day she retreats, spooked by our joy, and lets winter smother the world again with gray skies and frozen ground.

Today is one of those days. Mentally, I'm in summer. But that flirty spring fairy decided to hide today. And the snow flurrying down outside is far less charming than it was back in December.

As I bring my coffee to my lips, I hear Millie's cry over the baby monitor and let one last sigh out before I climb upstairs. My breath fogs the window.

I creak open Millie's nursery door and walk inside. She's the silliest 11-month old - she stops crying as soon as I walk in the room. I scoop her up and change her diaper before bringing her downstairs. She squints as we walk down into the kitchen, where the light is bright from the falling snow.

"It's another cold day, Millie," I say as I buckle her into her high chair.

All week it's been cold. Those warm days - those are the days I feel like a good mom. The days I can build a picnic lunch and get some sunshine with my daughter? Golden.

But these days are cold, drab, and dreary. No park, no sunshine, no easy game plan for the day. I've already taken Millie to the library, jungle gym, grandma's house... I'm tired of sitting inside all day, filling our day with nothing.

Even breakfast feels boring - toast and bananas. Millie loves it. She loves nothing more. If she could have it every meal she would.

As I finish my dry toast, I watch Millie scarfing hers down and try to build a mental list.

Sensory bins might be fun... we did that two days ago though. I need to grocery shopping, but that's not exactly educational or fun.

I don't know why coming up with things to fill our day is so difficult recently. The cold weather wears on me this time of year - it's hard to stay creative.

Millie noticed me lost in thought and giggled at me, reaching out her fist, full of squished banana.

"Okay sister," I chuckle. "Let's get you cleaned up."

After breakfast I still haven't come up with any ideas, so we sit on the living room floor. I draw a blanket around my shoulders to stay warm. I look Millie and we stare blankly at one another.

"I'm sorry," I murmur.

Millie tilts her head. Then she crawls up to me and into my lap. She wraps her arms around me to cuddle, reaching for our blanket basket beside the couch. I grab the Sunny Days Quilt we have rolled inside and wrap it around her. She nuzzles her head on my shoulder.

Her little hands hold onto me. In the quiet of our home, with the spring snow falling, I feel her tiny warmth filling my chest.

My eyes brim with tears.

Maybe I should stop putting so much pressure on myself.

What does it mean to be a good mom? When the sun matches your plans and the weather bends to your will? When the house is clean and all Millie's food is cut into cute shapes? When every hour of our day is filled with something educational, something fun, something productive?

Or is it deeper than that?

Does Millie think I'm a good mom?