Tonight, I found myself sitting on the floor outside my son’s bedroom, phone in hand, dressed in my pajamas, hair messily pinned up, waiting for my energetic 2-year-old to stop giggling and finally drift off to sleep. Technically, I “should” have already taught him to fall asleep independently by now, but let’s face it—“should haves” seem to dominate my life these days.
After an hour of waiting, he finally surrendered to sleep. I slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth, and as I caught a glimpse of my tired reflection, I realized how far I’ve come. The woman staring back at me is just that—a woman. Yet, I often feel like a child myself, trying to navigate this chaotic, imperfect world. My gaze fell upon a spot of mildew forming near the sink drain, and I thought, “I can’t seem to keep anything under control these days.”
There was a time when I was organized, when my parenting was ruled by checklists and meticulous planning. I believed that’s what it meant to be a good person, an ideal mother. But then came the transformative nine months that changed everything and introduced a torrent of “should haves” and “good enoughs.”
My life shifted dramatically with the births of my two sons. Each pregnancy brought with it a unique blend of hope and heartache. Just a year ago, I cradled my youngest son as he passed away, and nine months later, I found myself in a courtroom finalizing the end of my marriage—a necessary yet painful conclusion.
This past year has acquainted me with the harsh reality of pain. Each morning, I wake up to a fog of exhaustion that lingers throughout the day. I move through the heaviness, only to find my mind racing late into the night, reliving past moments and planning for the future. If I could spend every day in my yoga pants, binge-watching Netflix, I would do so without hesitation. If meals could magically appear, or if I could hire a team to clean up my chaotic spaces, it would be a dream realized.
But I don’t have the luxury of slacking off. I can’t afford to give up or call in sick to life, nor can I let despair consume me. I have a sandy-haired, blue-eyed little boy who climbs into my bed every morning and whispers, “Mommy, snuggle.” Moments later, he tells me it’s time for breakfast. I plant my feet on the floor, and he looks at me, asking, “Mommy, carry me like a baby.” With weary eyes, I lift him into my arms, reminding both him and myself that there will come a day when I can’t lift him so easily. As I breathe in the scent of his hair and he rests his head on my shoulder, I find solace.
No matter how little sleep I’ve had or what challenges await me, my love for him outweighs everything else. He gives me the strength to face another day, even when curling up in bed sounds far more appealing than confronting my responsibilities. Sure, I feel exhausted and wish for extra hours of rest, but when morning comes, I know I’m all he has, and he is my reason to rise.
The past year has heightened my awareness of life’s fragility. It can be incredibly tough, yet it’s also filled with beauty, hope, and sweetness. The hard moments that leave me breathless and the chaotic instances that make me want to pull my hair out all pale compared to the tender moments—like when I snuggle next to him in his toddler bed, singing him a lullaby, only for him to lean over, wrap his little arms around my neck, and whisper, “Mommy, I love you.”
Amidst the “should haves” and “good enoughs,” and despite the things I let slide during this challenging year, I realize that at the core, it’s love that truly matters. This tough season will pass, and while the scars will remain, we will persevere together. Love is enough.
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Summary:
In the face of life’s challenges, love acts as a guiding force, reminding us that it is enough to persevere. The struggles of parenting, especially after loss or transition, can feel overwhelming, but the love we share with our children provides the motivation to keep moving forward.
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