a letter to me, on my worst day

I’m not going to lie to you, I’ve been less than inspired and slightly lost for words lately. Straight up, I couldn’t find the word inspired when writing this. Between starting school again, a very rough sleep regression, and simply feeling inadequate as a wife and a mother, it’s been hard to find the motivation to write. But as I was recapping our Memorial Day weekend, I came across a picture that my husband took of me and LG in the aquarium. Now, we have learned she has a special fascination for the fish and water, I swear she was trying to break through the glass to play with the fish. That’s a (comical) story for another day, maybe. As we were traveling in the amazing underwater tunnel at the Ripley’s Aquarium in Myrtle Beach, LG turned to me and grabbed my face, completely in love, and gave me a big ol’ kiss. That’s her thing right now, she LOVES kisses.  My husband just happened to get a picture of it and it made me realize that L sees nothing but amazing in me, to her I am everything. My mom has told me this one too many times, but I didn’t realize it until then. I feed her, I change her a majority of the day, I sing to her, I play with her, I rock her to sleep, and my face is the first she sees when she wakes up. She loves me, because to her I am everything.

So on your worst day, read this and remember.

Dear Mama,

You are amazing. That is all you need to know. For what reason? Why am I amazing, when I didn’t do this, or I forgot to do this, or my house is dirty, or I haven’t cooked in weeks (thank you hubby)? You question yourself daily, you feel inadequate, you doubt yourself that you were made to be a mom, or even a wife. But remember.

Remember the endless prayers you said, remember the hoping, the wishing. Remember the tears over negative pregnancy tests. Remember the tears over THE pregnancy test. Remember the doctors appointments when they told you, congratulations you’re pregnant, the first time you saw your little beeb, who grew into a bigger beeb who’s heartbeat you heard, who is now your big baby that asleep in your king sized bed.

Remember when you miss your pre-pregnancy body that it took 9 months, 40 long weeks to stretch and grow a tiny, little human. Your body did that. It grew bones and skin and eyes and fingernails, you grew that life that you love so, so much now. The life who may keep you awake all hours of the night, who poop dripped down your leg and splattered on the aquarium floor. But you know what, those days won’t last forever. The day when that little life no longer wants to be held by you, who won’t fall asleep in your arms, who won’t lunge forward with all they have to slobber all over your face in attempt to give you a kiss.

When you’re feeling broken and like you need a moment of solid peace and quiet, but your kids won’t stop crying or asking for you, remember the lonely silence before babies, before marriage (or during deployment). Remember those lonely days in that tiny, white apartment where you longed for someone to just be present. Kora, you were great company then and I am forever grateful for your stinky, little butt. But I’m sorry, I longed for human interaction. Human love.

As you walk into your house, your messy house with piles of nonsense everywhere you look, with piles of clothes spilling out of the laundry room, remember that these days won’t last. Once they are gone, you will long for them. You will wish you had those tiny clothes to fold, those diapers to stuff, and those little feet to clean. The days are short, so embrace them. I promise, the dishes can wait.