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We cry because it's all too much. It's overwhelming. It's fast and furious. It's all so brand new. But, then, after we cry, we dry our eyes. We keep going.
I was halfway through lunch preparations and the water for pasta was…
Mama, you were made for this moment.
I can't tell you when you'll get to play on the jungle gym again, but what I can tell you is you will see me every day. Because we will be together.
For the next several weeks I am embracing imperfect parenting, loosening up about screen time and giving myself a high-five for every day we get simply get through.
This coronavirus quarantine life may be our "new normal"—but it definitely doesn't feel "normal."
Until I found what helped.
We have plenty of beautiful, useful toys in our home already. I have eliminated the guilt of needing more toys to please them because I know they have more than enough.
Tonight—right now—the only thing I can do is remind myself that this will pass. The fog will lift eventually, and the fear will slip away.
After having you, I was terrified of having another kid because I didn't think I could love someone else as much as you.
My mantra now is radical acceptance. It's radical because, for me, it means defiantly and unequivocally accepting what my anxious mind tells me is unacceptable—the messy, the imperfect, the difficult.
I didn't know my first pregnancy would be my last.