I remember a day a few weeks ago where I felt I had really nailed this whole parenting gig. On this particular day, I think I had only been woken by a crying child once, briefly, in the night, so I was feeling rested for a change. Then, miraculously, I made a dinner that all four of us ate. It was the only fish dish in my (meager) arsenal, mostly because I hate seafood. But I find that sometimes if I get fresh enough tilapia I can stomach about half a filet, and on this night I ate almost the entire thing. What’s more, Jacob,my pickier eater, usually only manages a bite or two, but on this night, he couldn’t get enough.
We ate together, on time, before anyone got hangry, and afterward, we danced as we cleaned up the kitchen. I really felt like I had it together and may have even high-fived Chris over it.
Which brings me to today, where I’m writing on my phone one handed while walking Libby around the neighborhood in the stroller, because YOU WERE UP HALF OF THE NIGHT; HOW ARE YOU NOT NAPPING, CHILD? They were up for hours last night, mostly screaming, and around 1:30 in the morning, baths were had and eggs were cooked and eaten in an attempt to soothe them both. (Spoiler alert: it was only moderately successful.)
Parenthood is really a mix of the highest highs and lowest lows. It’s not a new or novel idea, but I don’t think anyone can fully understand it until they’ve really, personally, viscerally experienced it. It’s also such a testament of endurance. I don’t know how I’m still upright and walking, yet here I am, persisting, defying my own beliefs of what I am capable of doing. It is both amazing and humbling as well as nearly indescribable.
I had originally ended by writing, “happily, we’ve managed to put Libby asleep…for now,” and then I peered into the stroller….and eyes were open and staring back at me. Ah, parenthood.