“Is she really okay? Can’t we do something?” My husband’s panicked voice cut through the stillness of the night, barely audible over our daughter’s wailing. It had been days of battling a runny nose and trying to soothe her discomfort. As her cries escalated, my maternal instincts kicked in: it had to be an ear infection.
His worry was understandable—he’s the type of dad who takes pride in giving the kids their nightly baths. But his questions only amplified my own anxiety, making it tough to keep my cool. “You’re sure she’s alright?” he pressed. I tried to drown out both his voice and my rising self-doubt, but he was relentless. “Alicia, she’s in pain! Call the doctor!”
At that moment, my feelings boiled over. “Just go to bed! I’ll rock her all night if I have to. It’s just an ear infection! Stop questioning me. I’ve got this!” Yes, I can get a bit snappy in the wee hours—it’s not my finest hour.
But after nearly a decade and four kids later, I’ve made enough frantic calls to the pediatrician to know the routine. Unless it’s an emergency, I just have to hold out until morning when the office opens. I propped myself up with pillows, noticing that this position seemed to bring my daughter some comfort as she nestled on my chest, her ear pressed against my heart. We managed to steal a few hours of rest together.
When I awoke, the smell of fresh coffee wafted through the air. My husband, a dedicated tea drinker, had made coffee—an act of kindness that suggested my late-night outburst had been forgiven. Fueled by love, gratitude, and caffeine, I managed to get the three older kids off to school before heading to the pediatrician with my sick little one.
After examining my daughter’s ear, the pediatrician said, “Wow! This one is really bad. She has a perforated eardrum.” My heart sank at this diagnosis. “We’ve dealt with a lot of ear infections, but never this,” I admitted, spiraling into guilt. “I should’ve brought her in sooner, but she didn’t have a fever until yesterday. I just thought…”
“Alicia,” she reassured me. “You know better than to play the ‘should’ve, could’ve’ game. This is serious, but she’ll be fine. I’m prescribing antibiotics and ear drops, and we’ll check her again in two weeks. You’ve got this.”
A wave of relief washed over me; my child would be okay, and I had the support of a medical professional who believed in my parenting. My pediatrician is also a mom with kids close in age to my own, and her vulnerability over the years has lifted me out of my own worry and guilt. When I shared my struggles, she often reciprocated with her own tales of motherhood.
That morning, I distilled years of our conversations into a simple truth: “Motherhood is a balancing act between determination and letting go. It’s tough to know when to push and when to pull back.” She paused, looking at me with understanding. “Showing up with love is what makes us good enough in both our successes and failures.” A tear welled in her eye, reflecting a shared experience of motherhood.
Let me be clear, though—my so-called wisdom was simply a rephrasing of her advice. A few years ago, I was in a burn unit watching my toddler recover from a scalding injury. When I questioned my worth as a mother, she reminded me that my unwavering love and commitment to my son’s healing made me enough, even amidst the chaos.
In a world where we often strive for perfection, it’s easy to drown in our missteps. At least it was for me, until I discovered the power of love. Love was what sustained me when I learned my son’s injury could have been fatal, and it anchored me during his painful recovery. It was love that I leaned on to stay grounded during my daughter’s ear drama.
Back at home, still in my pajamas, I noticed my daughter’s ear had leaked while she slept on me, leaving a crusty reminder of my parenting fail. Instead of wallowing in guilt, I opted for a shower—realizing that shame won’t fix anything (trust me, I’ve tried). After my son survived his ordeal, I chose to embrace forgiveness rather than remorse. Much like my husband’s thoughtful coffee gesture, a hot shower was the self-kindness I needed to shift my perspective.
As I reflected, I recalled how my son, now six, gently held his sister when she was crying from ear pain. “Mom, I’ll hold her,” he said, snuggling her against his scarred but compassionate chest. This learned behavior, born from his own experiences, reminded me that love is what teaches us resilience.
If we choose to forgive ourselves and embrace love despite our mistakes, we can transform our challenges into growth. In my journey to accept imperfection, I’ve learned to show up with love—not just for my kids, but for myself too. Love is what gives me strength and, maybe, makes me an adequate mom. We just have to keep showing up with love. We can do this!
For more on this topic, check out this resource on home insemination from the CDC, and if you’re interested in exploring ways to expand your family, take a look at this helpful guide.
Summary:
In this heartfelt narrative, a mother reflects on the challenges and rewards of parenting, emphasizing the importance of love in navigating both triumphs and failures. The author recounts a sleepless night marked by worry over her child’s health, ultimately finding comfort in self-kindness and connection with others. Through shared experiences with her pediatrician, the author highlights that love is the key to resilience, reminding us to embrace imperfection in our parenting journeys.