I worried I wouldn’t like being a mother.
All I heard and saw of motherhood was chaos and survival, pain and loss, no sleep, no sex, and the end of good times.
Except for Mommy.
She gave me hope.
Hope that motherhood could be rich with joy. Hope that I could still have a romantic marriage. Hope that my home could be a place of rest. Hope that raising littles didn’t mean I couldn’t get dressed in the morning or do things I love.
Mother gave me hope that there was another way to mother. That you didn’t have to choose between productivity and peace. That you didn’t have to choose between a life you loved and a life you felt called to.
She gave me hope that I didn’t have to live into expectations of tantruming two-year-olds, dreading teenagers, or a burdensome marriage.
And while I’ve had my seasons of crying in the bathroom. Overwhelm. Fatigue.
Mother showed me that how motherhood is portrayed online and even my own hard moments do not define what is possible. She showed me how I can never be enough, but in his strength I have more than I’ll ever need.
Thank you Mommy, for showing me I didn’t have to choose between children or fun, sacrificial love or a vibrant life I cannot wait to bounce out of bed to each morning.
You never said a word about it, but how you lived said it all.
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