Tonight, I found myself seated on the hallway floor outside my son’s room, phone in hand and hair clumsily piled atop my head. I was waiting for my spirited 2-year-old, Alex, to settle down, stop giggling, and finally drift off to sleep. By now, I really “should” have taught him to fall asleep independently, but let’s be real—“should haves” have become a common theme in my life.
After an hour of listening to his joyful antics, he finally surrendered to sleep. I slipped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and caught a glimpse of my weary reflection. The woman staring back was undeniably tired, yet somehow still a child at heart, navigating a chaotic world and doing my best to figure it all out. My gaze drifted to the sink drain, where a bit of mildew had started to form.
“I seem to be losing control of everything these days,” I thought.
I wasn’t always this way. Once, my life was structured by rules and checklists that ensured I adhered to everything perfectly, believing this was the essence of being a good person and a good mother. Then came the nine-month journeys that transformed my life forever and introduced me to a tide of “should haves” and “good enoughs.”
Those nine months were significant—twice over—with the pregnancies and births of my two sons. They brought forth life, joy, and a sense of hope, but not without heartache. Just last year, I held my youngest son in my arms as he slipped away, and nine months later, I found myself in a courtroom finalizing my marriage’s end—a necessary yet painful chapter.
This past year has acquainted me intimately with pain. Many mornings, I wake up wrapped in exhaustion, trudging through the heaviness of life. There are days when I long to stay in bed, donning yoga pants and binge-watching Netflix instead of facing the world. If I could have every meal prepared for me or hire cleaners to tidy up my chaos, I would embrace that dream without hesitation.
But I don’t have the luxury of giving up or calling in sick to life. I have a sandy-haired, blue-eyed boy who climbs into my bed every morning, whispers, “Mommy snuggle,” and soon after insists it’s time for breakfast. I plant my feet firmly on the ground, and he looks up at me, saying, “Mommy, carry me like a baby.” With tired, yet loving eyes, I lift his 35-pound frame into my arms, reminding myself that one day, he won’t fit so easily anymore.
No matter how little sleep I got or the challenges that await me, my love for him transcends it all. He gives me the strength to rise, even when retreating into a cozy hideaway seems infinitely more appealing. Yes, I’m exhausted. Yes, I would love a few more hours of sleep, but when morning comes, he relies on me, just as I rely on him.
This past year has imparted a profound understanding of life’s fragility. While it can be incredibly challenging, it also holds moments of beauty, hope, and sweetness. The tough times when I feel utterly overwhelmed fade into insignificance compared to the tender moments—like when I curl up beside him in his toddler bed, singing a lullaby, feeling his little arms wrap around my neck as he whispers, “Mommy, I love you.”
Despite all my “should haves” and the many things I’ve let slide during this intense year, I’ve learned that love is what truly matters. This challenging season will eventually pass, and though the scars may remain, we will persevere. Thanks to love, we will endure. Love is enough.
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Summary: This heartfelt narrative reflects on the challenges and joys of parenting amidst life’s chaos. The author shares personal experiences of love, loss, and the realization that, despite the pressures of societal expectations, love remains the most significant aspect of life.