Being Your Mother Is the Hardest, Best Thing I'll Ever Do

I remember the day I had you like it was yesterday. But it wasnt. It was two years ago.

I remember the second night with you in the hospital. Your dad had gone home to help your older sister get to sleep. Hed stayed as late as he could. My mom came in his place and slept on the hard, fake leather sofa in our room. She slept, but I didnt. You didnt. (You were a newborn baby after allwho would expect you to?)

I laid there on the uncomfortable bed, slightly tilted into a half reclined-half sitting up position, wondering if Id made a mistake.

Could I handle more years of sleepless infant nights?

Could I handle two small children by myself when your dad went back to work?

Could I be a good enough mother?

The answer to all of these questions was, No.

The truth was it would be hard. The reality is I called your dad at work several times a day crying. The brutal fact is Im so flawed, as a person and as a mom.

But I didnt make a mistake.

And now youre two, and I already know why they say things like, It wont last forever, or, Dont be the first to let go when your child hugs you. I understand, too, that Im not a good enough mother, but Im what youve got.

Im not in awe of you enough. Im not always happy just sitting together and reading books. Sometimes I want to read on my phone instead. Sometimes I do.

But these days with tiny-youeven our hardest onesare always my best.

Still, it hits me every night as bedtime approaches. Waves of our days moments when I could have been more presentwhen I should have reacted differently; when I needed to stop my own thoughts and be more available within yourscrash into me and it hurts. It hurts because Im not sorry.

Im not sorry for sometimes wishing bedtime would come sooner. Im not sorry for wanting desperately to just sit on the couch, alone. But what hurts is knowing each of these moments quickly add up, as I see your tiny face grow into more of a little girl and so much less of a toddler.

What hurts is witnessing how each day you need me less and less, and each day I have to let go a little bit more.

What hurts is knowing these minutes of you clinging to me, and needing me, for nearly everything are becoming fewer and fewer, until one day, youll be left to choose how much of your time is spent with me.

What hurts is wondering if youll feel how infinitely I love you despite my marred humanness.

I remember the day I had you like it was yesterday. But it wasnt. It was two years ago. Before I know it, it will be twenty.

Before I know it, I wont remember it as clearly.

Before I know it, Ill be an older, wiser mother annoying new mothers with how fast it goes.

Before I know it, my memories of your babyhood will be what I hold closely instead of your tiny hand.

Being your mother is the hardest, best thing Ive ever done. Being your mother is the hardest, best thing Ill ever do.

I laid there on the uncomfortable bed, slightly tilted into a half reclined-half sitting up position, wondering if Id made a mistake.

I didnt. You remind me of this every day.

Every time your shining blue eyes twinkle at mine in a giggle, or your angry brow furrows in my direction, I see who Ive made, and I know of the many, many mistakes I have and will make, their best correction will always be you.