This is not the post I had planned for today. Today’s post was supposed to be the follow-up to the 100 Things About Me post. Rest assured, I will tell you all the story of how Hubby and I got kicked out of Lamaze class on Friday. That’s what I meant to post about – but yesterday didn’t go the way I planned.
I did the usual things: laundry (of course!), ran 5 miles, and more laundry. I had to hunt down Kitty’s track uniform, wash it, and get it to her in time for her track meet at 4pm. I did. I even took the other 2 kids to run some last-minute errands.
I was feel super productive, and on top of my game. So why did I end up sitting in front of a laptop at 10pm doubting my skills as a Mom?
I can still remember hearing her first cry in the delivery room. I had a c-section. If you’ve ever had a Cesarean section, you know that there is a second – that feels like 5 minutes – right after they take the baby from your body, when you literally can’t breathe. I always assumed that it was because your diaphragm needed to adjust to that new space where your baby once was inside you. I was terrified. And then, I heard that baby cry outside of me. I was even more terrified. I felt completely and totally unprepared. I didn’t know anything. Except that I loved her more than anything.
I took a breath. And another. I discovered what mothers all over the world have discovered: you find a way. You get through. You make it work somehow.
Today I wasn’t so sure about that. I’m still not.
Kitty is frustrating and intelligent and talented and creative and exasperating – all at the same time. She is the child over whom I spend the most time fretting.
Today, she competed in the high jump. The afternoon was mild, but damp enough to make you feel chillier than your car thermometer said you should. With my fingers wrapped around a cup of coffee, I watched her make the approach to the jump – and not jump. Again. And then again. So many times. I yelled to her – you can do this! Did I yell at her? She shouted to me from the small area inside the near turn on the track where the jump was positioned. “Stop it, Mom!”
I was mortified. Not because of what anyone else might have thought, but because I was that parent.
She finished, never really attempting the jump. As she walked away, I could tell she was crying. She failed – in such a little thing.
I had failed – in a big thing.
I tried to explain that I knew she could do it. I tried to tell her that I believed in her. I’m sure I talked too much.
She is a young girl who has so little faith in herself.
I am back in that delivery room where I can not take a breath and I feel so completely unprepared. I don’t know anything.
Except this: every day I will work to take care of my baby. To guide her through. We will grow and learn together. And I will love her more than anything.