The sun is going down. We’ve sung the last song, read the last book and tucked you back into bed for the seventeeth time.

The day is coming to a close and I breathe a sigh of relief.

All day long, I look forward to the bedtime hour. Two more hours till bedtime. One more hour. Thirty minutes. 10 minutes. As soon as you’re in bed, the cleaning starts. I pick up the toys, wipe down the counters, wash the dishes and fold the laundry.

Then the relaxing starts.

I put on my sweats, grab my snack, turn on Netflix and snuggle up with your daddy. Then it’s my bedtime. I turn the TV off, climb into bed and just before my head hits the pillow, I ask myself, Did I love them enough today?


You see, the day goes so fast, but the moments drag on and on and on.

I know you don’t understand why the way you say my name drive me crazy sometimes. I know you get frustrated when plans change and people cancel and things don’t work out. I know how hard it is for you when I forget to toast your bread before putting the peanut butter on it and how life threatening that shoe to the head must have felt.

I try to give grace because you probably didn’t mean to sit on your baby sister’s head… twice… in two minutes. But the truth is, I fail. So much. I snap. I cry. I angry text your daddy and threaten mutiny multiple times a day. I get sad and I can’t explain why. I get angry and have a hard time hiding it. I get lonely and insecure and frustrated and sometimes I say things that I can’t take back.

So when I get to the end of the day—the day that I’ll never get to have with you again—I go over the details, the highs and the lows, and I wonder if you felt loved the whole day. Once you’re in bed, sleeping soundly, I almost completely forget how hard the day was for me. In the moment, the chaos is so real, but when it’s over, it’s over and I just want to wake you up and say, “HEY! You did good today, kid.”

I hope that I loved you enough today.

I hope that everyday you know that you are loved and that nothing you can do or say can change that. I hope that you see through my tears of frustration and know that I am so proud of you. You are the best thing I ever did. I love you fiercely and I hope you always know that. Not just in the long run, but every single frustrating day.

Did I love you enough today, little one? I sure hope so.