I count my blessings because the hardships and the successes that come from creating little humans make me a better person. I take less for granted. I know that things are not meant to be perfect. Without the heartache, how would I feel the true happiness that comes with raising kids?
I feel like the woman I was before I became a mother is someone I am familiar with, but I don't know her all that well—she's more like an acquaintance. Honestly, I have to think really hard to remember what it was like to be her.
Some of us are invigorated by the day-to-day of motherhood. And some of us need something outside of motherhood to keep that cup full enough to be able to pour out all that our family needs to thrive.
Their childhood will move to their teenagehood and then to adulthood, and there won't be tiny little dino jams in the laundry or princess dresses that don't fit anymore. How is it possible for these small, precious pieces of cloth to seemingly rip my heart out of my chest?
There's nothing wrong with me because I'm scared sometimes and I make mistakes in parenting, wife-ing and life-ing. I am human; you are human; we are flawed and imperfect.
Watching my kids play with her kids—and the bond they share—makes me so proud. They fight and argue like siblings, but they also light up when they see each other and laugh so hard whenever they're together.
