There is a height chart on the wall that’s never been written on. There is a height chart on the wall reminding me that I didn’t do the “parenting thing” I planned to do.
There’s a baby book on the shelf with two pages filled out. Reminding me daily I failed at that too.
There are so many things we plan to do when we have kids. So many things. And instead of focusing on the things we actually do, we focus on the things we don’t.
Why didn’t I fill out the height chart? Well my kids wouldn’t let me, and while they wouldn’t let me, I was honoring their needs and getting them occupational therapy. I was helping them be their best selves.
Why didn’t I fill in the baby books? Well, I was honoring my need to sleep, or to hold them close when they were scared, or sad, or just wanting to be near me.
Why didn’t I follow the script of motherhood as I thought I always would? Because it’s not real. My story is different. All stories are different, and just because one person has three perfect baby books filled out, doesn’t mean they don’t feel like they aren’t failing too. I can almost guarantee there is something in their house that haunts them daily, because they wished they did it, and now can’t.
I don’t remember all my kids heights, I don’t remember a lot of things honestly, but my children will always know that I love them, and i was there for them and all their needs… even if I don’t have a baby book to offer them when they grow old.
I was there, I am here. And that’s more than enough.