It feels as though all of my posts lately (all two of them) have had a common theme. The theme being that life rushes past quickly and I’m trying to savor it. I’m trying somewhere between the loads of laundry and load of homework to nurture these children that I’ve been given.
I was texting (because I can do that and supervise homework and cook chili) with a friend a few minutes ago. She has three children under the age of five, including a two month old. She’s tired and she’s often overwhelmed. Because, well, because she is a mom. I was telling her that I totally get it. This parenting thing is hard. I added that it is hard. And wonderful. And tiring. And beautiful. And worth it most of the time…..except when it doesn’t feel like it is.
Then they grow up and they don’t call or text as much as you’d like. You don’t lay your eyes on them as much as you’d like. You think back to how much you did when you were busy and how you kept going when you were tired. You realize that you’d do it all again even if you knew that they might not remember all of the details.
Hopefully they have an understanding that your life became so much about them the moment you knew about them.
I often describe parenting as a “hard gig.” But I know of nothing else that could be done from pure love when all other resources fail.