Shouldn’t it be enough for me to be Izzy’s mother? There are other moms at her kindergarten who send their kids in with charcuterie lunch boards accompanied by homemade pickles and bread. Moms who volunteer every time a message goes out over ParentSquare and walk their kids to school without looking like they’re on the verge of having a stress-induced heart attack at twenty-eight. Maybe I could be that kind of a mother if I tried hard enough. Maybe being that kind of mom would be enough to satisfy me.
