I don’t care about the mess. Because that’s how it is now. And it bothers me some but not enough to take me out. Or to miss out.
If being a parent is a test of your anxiety level, patience and second guessing every single thing you do… then it’s a damn good one if I ever saw.
I had lots of ideas what I thought this would be like: MOTHERHOOD. The cute stuff, the fluff, the perfect pictures. The birthday parties, playing with barbies and family gatherings.
And that’s the thing about life because that’s not it. The expectations aren’t the thing. The things are the thing. The little moments and living and fully being in it is the thing.
It’s all about the other moments that have meant the most. The middle of the night feedings just us, the naps on the couch, forgetting to eat breakfast, breastfeeding, doctor’s visits, blow outs before we leave the house, tears and fussy faces. Figuring it out together. The hard stuff. The real stuff.
The stuff that connects us as mom and baby and mother and daughter. And mostly it’s the way I look at her and the way she looks at me. Just that. Knowing. Without saying anything. Without even smiling. The unconditional. The unbreakable. Love.
What if that’s all we ever had to do. Was love. Be in the moment and love, unconditionally. What if that was it?
If it could only be that. But there is so much more. The worry. The responsibility. The fears. Oh, yeah and the worry. Did I mention the worry? How do we not worry when we realize we love someone so much. So much more than anything. So much more than ourselves. So much that it actually hurts. It's literally painful how much you can love someone.
And how all of those expectations and envisioned moments and thoughts of what we thought this would be like, were blown away. Blown out of the water. It's the perfect example of trusting The Universe and God and your creator that there is always way more out there for you than you could dream up.
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