Sometimes I weep for you, my dear child. Sometimes it’s because the world feels so vast and you are so small, and I can’t help but fret—oh, how I fret—about your tiny place in this immense universe.
Sometimes I weep because you’re growing up and I’m feeling small, and the more you expand, the more I seem to diminish, and I worry—oh, how I worry—about my diminishing role in your ever-expanding world.
Sometimes I weep because this love is overwhelming and my heart feels too small to contain it, and the sensation of a swelling heart can feel—strangely and painfully—like a breaking one.
Sometimes I weep because the beauty of you is simply too much to bear. Sometimes I weep because the weight of responsibility feels heavy on my shoulders.
Sometimes I weep because in welcoming you, I lost a part of myself, and while I wouldn’t trade that for anything, I still find myself yearning for the me that used to be.
Sometimes I weep because your skin is so tender, your eyes shine so brightly, and your spirit is so fresh and new. It saddens me to think about how your innocence will be chipped away by experiences that are both cruel and necessary, for you are as human as the rest of us.
Sometimes I weep because you need support in ways I can’t provide, and that feeling of helplessness as a parent is—strangely, surprisingly—akin to sheer terror.
Sometimes I weep because, as a mother, I have no option but to wear my ‘big-girl’ pants every single day, and both the lack of choice and those pants can be really, really uncomfortable.
Sometimes I weep because I am so utterly exhausted—not just sleepy, but bone-weary—that I can’t seem to do anything else.
Sometimes I weep because I hear the divine in your laughter.
Sometimes I weep because your very presence brings a joy so deep that mere smiles and laughter can’t quite encapsulate it.
Sometimes I weep because this blessing is immense, and my capacity feels so limited that the overflow has to spill somewhere.
Sometimes I weep because all of these feelings—the love, the anxiety, the sorrow, the beauty, the overwhelming nature of it all, the ‘big-girl’ pants, and the blessings—it’s simply too much. Just far too much.
So sometimes I weep for you. And for myself. And for this vast world around us. And for the myriad of emotions—terrible, wonderful, desperate, beautiful—that you won’t comprehend until you, too, become a parent. Sometimes I weep for you, my little one. Big, cleansing tears.
For more insights and support on parenting and family-building options, check out this excellent resource at Resolve. Also, if you’re considering at-home insemination, you can find reputable insemination kits here to help you on your journey. And for additional reading, don’t miss our post on intracervical insemination to keep you engaged.
Summary
This heartfelt reflection expresses the myriad emotions a parent experiences, from love and joy to worry and sorrow. It underscores the complexities of parenthood, highlighting how overwhelming and beautiful the journey can be. Resources for family-building and at-home insemination are also provided for further guidance and support.
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