I was watching some good ol’ reality television the other night. That’s right, I’m not afraid to admit that I love me some Real Housewives. Whether it’s Atlanta, Beverly Hills, Orange County, New Jersey or NYC, it’s pretty much a guarantee I’ll be watching.  Don’t judge, but after working hard all day (especially in the role of mom) I find small doses of delight following the drama surrounding these ladies. After watching just one hour of this show, it usually makes me appreciate my life because my own personal drama seems much less dramatic compared to theirs.

Anyway, on a recent episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills, I actually cried.

I know, cue the violins.

The really strange thing is this has never happened to me before. I watched countless episodes and have been a fan of The Real Housewives series for years. But, it really happened. I cried right there on my couch along with the two moms who were sending their babies off to college.

And for me, it was the ugly cry. You see, for one quick moment I pictured myself in their shoes.

I had images of dropping my babies off at their dorm room for the very last time and hugging them goodbye. I thought of the words I would want to say especially to my daughter, which kind of gives me anxiety just thinking about it.

But here’s the real takeaway here – these “Beverly Hills” moms just want the best for their kids. They want to see them thrive. They want them to be successful. They want them to be happy.

Regardless of the money in their bank account, the kind of car they drive, the home they live in or how many marriages they’ve gone through – at the end of the day, these women are moms just like you and me. They experience many of the same emotions because regardless of their lifestyle or economic status because they are moms.

And despite the drama they create for themselves (and the very public lives they live), at the core of their being they face the same kind of issues we face as mothers. They just want the same things you and I would want for our own kids. This is the kind of genuine love I saw on that episode, the kind of love only a mother can have for her child.

My baby is going to be six this year and in about seven years, my oldest will be in high school on the verge of college so I know this time will be here faster than I would ever want it to. I know I complain when my kids don’t listen or pick up after themselves. And of course I could go without the constant sibling drama and the 9,000,000 other issues I deal with on a day-to-day basis as a parent – but I know as fast as I can complain about them not putting their shoes away or to please stop making crumbs on the floor, I know there will come a day you will find me crying on that floor; crying because my children are gone and I will wish for all of this time back.

So the next time I watch a little Beverly Hills drama unfold, for a fleeting moment I’ll see these women in a different light.

And as for me? Well, I am going to smile when I hear the pitter patter of small feet and loud voices coming around the hall – and absolutely revel in a pile of shoes and crumbs on the floor.