I was going to write a post about how two of JR and my friends are slipping away. I was going to wax poetic about how they’re not living the life they were meant to live and if they would only just listen to us, they would get it. We have a steady life. We have a family and we know what we’re going to do every morning because it’s the same thing we did the morning before. We usually know what we’re going to do every night because we have to, in order to do what we do in the morning. We don’t go out every night, and we don’t lock ourselves in our house. We’ve found a balance.
But, I realized that we don’t know what we’re doing. We have battles, just like them. They’re just different.
I worry everyday that I’m not a good mom. I worry that I’m screwing up my kid. And I know that these aren’t new concerns. That moms have been worried about these things for hundreds and hundreds of years. But, it’s new to me. I was blessed with an amazing kid well before I was ready, but she is a great kid. Am I doing everything I can to keep her that way? Am I doing a good job?
I was going to write a post about how we know, but the truth is, we don’t.
Then I started to hyperventilate. I should be doing so much more. I shouldn’t be worried about cleaning the house. It’s a beautiful day. We should be outside, playing. I should take more pictures. I shouldn’t be giving Claire a bottle before her naps, even though that’s how she goes to sleep. She should be sleeping through the night. She should be talking. I should be better.
I worried, and worried and worried.
Then I read this.
And I cried a little bit. My heart hurt, and now?
I’m not so worried.