Sometimes I weep for you, my little one.
Sometimes I weep because the world feels so vast and you seem so tiny, and I can’t help but worry—oh, how I worry—about your smallness in this enormous universe.
Sometimes I weep because you are growing so fast and I feel so small, and the more you expand, the more I feel diminished, and I worry—dear Lord, do I worry—about my own smallness in your expansive world.
Sometimes I weep because this love is overwhelming, and my heart feels too small to contain it; a heart that is about to burst often feels—strangely, painfully—like it’s breaking.
Sometimes I weep simply because I’m in awe of your beauty.
Sometimes I weep because the weight of caring for you becomes too heavy to bear.
Sometimes I weep because in gaining you, I let go of a part of myself, and though I wouldn’t change a thing, I sometimes find myself longing for who I used to be.
Sometimes I weep because your skin is so soft, your eyes sparkle so brightly, and your spirit is so fresh and open, and it saddens me. I mourn the loss of your innocence that will inevitably fade through the harsh realities of life, because you are as beautifully human as the rest of us.
Sometimes I weep because there are ways in which you need support that I can’t provide, and feeling helpless as a parent is—strangely, surprisingly—akin to sheer terror.
Sometimes I weep because, as a mother, I must face each day with my big-girl pants on, and both that sense of obligation and the discomfort of those pants can be truly overwhelming.
Sometimes I weep because I am utterly exhausted—not just sleepy, but deeply tired—so much so that I cannot muster the energy for anything else.
Sometimes I weep because I hear laughter in your giggles, and it brings me closer to God.
Sometimes I weep because your mere existence ignites a joy so profound that it transcends smiles and laughter.
Sometimes I weep because this gift of parenthood is immense, and my capacity feels insufficient; the overflow from my heart needs a place to go.
Sometimes I weep because all of these emotions—the love, the worry, the sorrow, the beauty, the pressure, the blessings—become too much to handle. Just far too much.
So sometimes, I weep for you. And for myself. And for this vast world. And for a multitude of reasons—horrible, wonderful, desperate, and beautiful—that you will come to understand only when you become a parent yourself.
Sometimes I weep for you, little one. Big, cleansing tears.
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In summary, parenting is a journey filled with deep emotions and challenges, from overwhelming love to worries about the future. We navigate through these feelings, often finding ourselves in tears as we come to terms with the immense responsibility of raising a child in a vast world.