I want to be a fun mom. Not a gasping for air mom.

In the words of Mariska Hargitay, we hear not just a mother’s desire, but the eternal cry of the heart that longs to love with fullness: “I want to be a fun mom. Not a gasping for air mom. This is more than a playful wish—it is a vision of how life should be lived, and how love should be given. For what is the role of a mother, if not to breathe life into her children with joy, with laughter, and with presence? Yet too often the burdens of the world weigh down upon the shoulders of parents, and instead of joy, there is exhaustion; instead of laughter, there is sighing. Hargitay’s words remind us that love, to be true, must not only endure but also rejoice.

The ancients spoke of this balance between labor and delight. They knew that every household, every family, was built upon toil—the tending of the fields, the bearing of children, the endless works of survival. But they also honored the festivals, the moments of song and dance, when parents could set aside their weariness and join the young in laughter. For to live always in struggle is to forget why one struggles at all. The longing to be a fun mom is the longing to transform duty into joy, to let love breathe freely rather than suffocate under the weight of responsibility.

Consider the story of Queen Victoria, a woman of immense burden and heavy crown. In her public life, she was stern, disciplined, a ruler of empire. But history tells us that in her private chambers, with her nine children, she delighted in play, in games, in laughter. Despite the weight of nations upon her, she sought to be more than a mother gasping for air under duty; she sought to be present in joy. This example teaches us that even amidst responsibility, we must find the room for love’s laughter, lest our children inherit only our sighs.

There is also the simple yet profound story of Maria Montessori, whose vision for children’s education was born not out of exhaustion, but out of delight in their curiosity. She saw that when parents and teachers burden themselves with too much control, they become like those gasping for air—straining, weary, and frustrated. But when they trust the child’s joy, guiding gently rather than with force, life becomes lighter. The parent is not suffocated, but freed to join in discovery. Hargitay’s words echo this same wisdom: to mother well is not to suffocate in endless labor, but to breathe with the child, to laugh with them, and to live in joy together.

The lesson is clear: life is too short to love only through duty. Duty is sacred, yes, but it must be balanced with joy. Parents must remember that their children will not only remember the meals cooked, the clothes washed, or the duties fulfilled—they will remember the sound of laughter, the warmth of play, the sparkle of freedom in their parent’s eyes. To love is not merely to provide, but also to delight.

Therefore, let every parent resolve to live with balance. Guard your health, that you may not be left gasping. Guard your joy, that your children may see in you not only a protector but also a companion. Take moments, however small, to play, to laugh, to be silly. Do not let the weight of the world crush the lightness of your spirit. For in that lightness, your children learn the true meaning of life.

Practically, this means choosing moments of presence: putting aside the phone, the tasks, the endless to-do list, to enter into your child’s world of imagination. It means caring for your body and your soul, that you may have strength not only to endure but to rejoice. It means remembering that joy is not wasted time—it is sacred time, the very breath of life.

And so, let us remember the wisdom of Hargitay’s words. Do not be the parent always gasping, always weary, always bowed down. Instead, be the parent who laughs, who plays, who lives fully. For in the end, your children will carry not only the memory of what you did for them, but also the joy of who you were with them. And that joy will be their inheritance, a treasure more precious than any crown.