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Is This Motherhood or a Disguise?

There’s a silk chemise hidden under my sweatshirt. A red lipstick smudge I wipe away before pick-up. A moan caught mid-nap. Some days, I crave eye contact more than carbs. I scroll through old photos, not for memories, but for angles.

At the school gates, I wonder if anyone notices how my ring still reflects too much light for how tired I feel. I time my steps. I wear heels to parent-teacher meetings, not for elegance—but for proof I still exist as me. I don’t know if I perform motherhood or simply try it on like a limited-edition coat.

Read Proto Soul – Break.Code.Begin for when you forget if you seduce with presence or with absence. For when you whisper into baby monitors like a lost frequency, waiting for someone to respond to you, not just her.

Is bedtime my only escape? Do I inject before pickup or just dream of it? My stroller wheels glide like they’re rehearsed. My nursing bra flirts with the idea of intimacy. Some days, I seduce the mirror in house slippers just to see if my skin still knows how.

Explore Viva Code – Crack.Flow.Flame if you've ever dressed your baby in coordinated legacy just to distract from your own fading outline. If you ever cried at a playdate—not because of your child, but because silence never felt so performative.

Is the nanny’s nail color my secret fantasy? Did I miss the scent of myself before milk and sleep regressions? I gift her toys I want to play with. I fold her onesies like altars. And sometimes, I seduce bedtime—not him—just to see if my hips still hold power under lullaby weight.

Shop Sirius Zen Method when feeding becomes choreography, when you want softness without losing edge, when motherhood is sacred but you feel erased.

I don’t know if I want to be touched or helped. I only know I want to glow—even if it's under spit-up.

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