There are moments when I find myself in tears for you, my dear little one. Sometimes I weep because the world around us feels so vast while you seem so tiny, and oh, the worry—how it overwhelms me—about your delicate place in this huge universe.
At other times, I cry because you’re growing taller, and in that growth, I feel myself shrinking. The bigger you become, the more I feel my own smallness, and the worry returns—how could it not?—about my diminishing role in your expansive life.
There are instances when my heart swells with love for you, so much so that it feels like it might burst. But strangely, that bursting sensation resembles a breaking heart, and I can’t help but shed a tear.
I cry from being utterly moved by your beauty, and at the same time, by the weight of responsibility that comes with being your parent. In welcoming you into my world, I’ve sacrificed parts of myself, and while I wouldn’t trade that for anything, I sometimes find myself mourning the person I used to be.
Your soft skin, bright eyes, and fresh spirit are a source of both joy and sadness for me. It pains me to know that your innocence will eventually be challenged by life’s harsh realities because, like all of us, you’ll face trials that will leave their mark.
Sometimes, I feel completely helpless as a parent, and that feeling can be frightening. It’s a curious kind of terror that stems from knowing I can’t always shield you from harm. Each day, I must don my metaphorical big-girl pants and face the challenges head-on, and let me tell you, that can be quite a discomfort.
I cry from sheer exhaustion—not the sleepy kind, but the deep, bone-weary sort that leaves me unable to process anything else. Yet, amidst this fatigue, I hear the echoes of God in your laughter, a sweet reminder of the joy you bring.
Your very presence sparks a happiness that transcends mere giggles and grins, a joy so profound that it can’t always be captured in smiles. Sometimes, I shed tears because this blessing is immense, while my capacity to contain it feels limited. The overflow has to go somewhere, after all.
It all becomes too much—the love, the worry, the joy, the sadness, the growth, the weariness—so overwhelming that I simply can’t hold it together. So, yes, sometimes I cry for you, for myself, for this vast world, and for a multitude of reasons that may seem incomprehensible to you until you become a parent yourself.
In those moments, my tears are big and cleansing, shedding the weight of all that it means to love and nurture you.
And for those on a similar journey, you might find valuable insights at NHS and learn more about the process of home insemination at Intracervical Insemination. For couples navigating the ups and downs of fertility, Make a Mom is a fantastic resource.
In summary, parenting is an emotional rollercoaster filled with love, worry, joy, and sadness. It’s a journey that brings out the best and most vulnerable parts of us, a ride that sometimes leaves us crying—but all for the beautiful little ones we adore.