“Is she okay? She feels really warm. Can’t you do something about it?” My husband’s frantic whispers pierced the stillness of the night, barely audible over our daughter’s wails. After days of battling congestion with saline drops and suction, my instinct told me it was an ear infection.
His concern was understandable; he’s the type of dad who takes pride in bathing the kids every evening. Yet, his anxious questions only heightened my own worries. “Are you absolutely sure she’s alright?”
In an effort to quiet both his voice and my escalating self-doubt, I snapped, “Just go to bed! I’ll hold her all night if necessary. It’s just an ear infection; I can handle this!” I can get quite sharp at night—it’s not my finest hour.
But after nearly a decade of parenting four kids, I know the routine well. Unless it’s an emergency, I just need to endure until morning when the pediatric office opens. I propped pillows around me to support my daughter in a way that seemed to ease her discomfort, allowing her to nestle against my chest. With her ear resting on my heart, we managed to steal a few moments of sleep.
When I awoke, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. My husband, a dedicated tea drinker, had clearly forgiven my midnight outburst. Fueled by love and caffeine, I gathered enough energy to send our three older children off to school before heading to the pediatrician with my little one.
As my doctor examined my daughter’s ear, she remarked, “Wow! This one is really infected. She has a perforated eardrum.” My heart sank at this diagnosis. “We’ve dealt with many ear infections, but never anything like this…” I rambled, guilt flooding in. “I should have brought her in sooner, but she didn’t have a fever until yesterday.”
“Alicia, don’t play the ‘should’ve, could’ve’ game. This is serious but manageable. I’ll prescribe antibiotics and ear drops, and we’ll check in two weeks. You’re doing great.” A wave of relief washed over me, comforted by the fact that my child would recover and that a professional trusted my parenting instincts.
My pediatrician, a fellow mother with children around the ages of my oldest, has always been a source of support. Her openness about her own challenges has made our exchanges feel like a shared journey. That morning, I summed up our conversations over the years: “Motherhood is a balancing act of determination and letting go. It’s tough to know when to fight and when to surrender.”
She paused, her eyes glistening as she absorbed my words. “Showing up with love is what makes us enough, regardless of our successes or failures.” In that moment, we connected through our shared vulnerabilities, leaving our conversation a bit stronger.
To clarify, my insights were merely a reflection of her wisdom, dressed up in my own words. Years earlier, I had been by my toddler’s side in an ICU burn unit, grappling with my sense of worth as a mother. During that time, she emphasized my unwavering love for my son, reminding me that simply being there for him was enough, despite the circumstances.
These days, parenting can feel like a relentless pursuit of perfection, where even small mistakes can leave us feeling defeated. Yet, in that chaos, I discovered love. Love was the anchor that steadied me when I first learned of my son’s serious injury and it carried me through his surgeries and moments of pain. It was love that kept me grounded as I faced the challenges of a ruptured eardrum.
Upon returning home, I realized how disheveled I looked, still in my pajamas. My daughter’s ear had leaked while she slept on me, leaving a hardened residue as a testament to my perceived failings. Instead of dwelling on my choices, I chose to take a shower. I’ve learned that shame and guilt fix nothing (believe me, I’ve tried). Having watched my son survive his injury with scars that remain, I opted for forgiveness over regret. Like my husband’s thoughtful gesture of brewing coffee, a simple act of kindness toward myself—a hot shower—was just what I needed to shift my outlook.
This shift reminded me of a moment when my daughter first cried out in pain. My son, despite being only six, said, “Mom, let me hold her.” He gently cradled her, his own scars a testament to resilience and compassion. His nurturing instinct was cultivated from his own experiences, where love was the only thing I could offer.
I’m inspired by the belief that if we embrace forgiveness and love ourselves despite our mistakes, we can emerge stronger from adversity. In striving for acceptance of my imperfections, I’ve learned to show up with love not only for my children but also for myself. Love, I’ve come to realize, is what empowers me to be their mother. We just need to keep showing up with love. We can do this.
For further insights on parenting and family, check out this article on the importance of showing up with love. Additionally, if you’re navigating the journey of conception, consider resources like Make A Mom for expert guidance. For more information on infertility, the CDC offers invaluable statistics and resources.
Summary:
This article explores the powerful role of love in parenting, emphasizing that showing up for our children with love is the one thing we can consistently get right. Through personal anecdotes and reflections, the author discusses the challenges of parenting and the importance of forgiveness, both for ourselves and our children, as we navigate the complexities of motherhood.