I'm not a mom.
But I know what it feels like to enjoy eating dinner without having to cut up someone else's first.
I know how it feels to get out of the car and not get in the backseat immediately to help a little person out.
I know how it feels to walk into a store without having to worry about the little hand grabbing yours. And whether or not that little hand is running off.
I know how amazing it is to have a conversation with an adult and not be interrupted.
I know how intelligent it is to watch a movie with a rating above G.
I know how serene the kitchen feels when cooking dinner in silence.
I'm not a mom.
But I know how absolutely vital (essential, really) it is for moms to step outside their mom-role for an hour, a trip to Wal-Mart, a dinner, the drivethrough...just a second...to reconnect with reality - the reality of being a woman.
I grew up with a phenominal mother - the one who loved being with her kids, who rarely took time for herself, who missed us when we weren't there. She is still that mother, to this day. And I will most likely be a lot like her.
I love the kids in my life - the ones who's lives brush mine, the others who are more a part, the others who I take care of regularly.
I love their honesty.
Their love of life.
Their dependance on me.
But last night, I was me, a part from them.
Me = single. Childless. Not a mom.
"I know I'm not a mom," I told Katie in the women's restroom of the Grand Ole Opry. "But it feels good to be out with just us - no kids."
And for five hours, it was nice.
But now back to the cuddling. Who can say no to that?
(but for the dads and other people involved in the lives of their women - they need a break sometimes. Even just a little one.)