I say yes a lot. Not in that “pulled in every direction” busy working mom way. Not in the “sure I can cover your shift/bake orange cupcakes for color day at school/bring that 45lb bag of cat litter up the steps for that asshole neighbor” kinda way. I say yes to “let’s garden Mommy” at 10:30pm. Yes to 10 more times down the slide, yes to putting my most expensive glittery makeup all over our arms even after she took a bath. Yes to a bowl of peanut butter on the couch for supper. And I’ll even ask what color bowl she’d like.

I am always 5-10 minutes late to work because I say yes to watching the birdies fly from the trees on our street. I say yes to red licorice in the shopping cart. Yes to hiding under an umbrella outside on a damp rug pretending to be on a safari.

I say yes to the puppet shows I have no energy for. Yes to letting her sit behind the wheel after we get home so she can pretend she’s driving.

I say yes because I remember very clearly when there was no child to say yes to.

I can pretend I am a normal mother all day long. But I’m not. My daughter will benefit from the almost manic joy she brings me. She will live every day like it could be her last. Because to me that’s not a saying on a coffee mug or t-shirt. It’s the worst day of my life. It’s the day that everything both ended and started. I say yes because I can.