With the culmination of my second pregnancy, I have become very nostalgic. I sat with my two year old and we looked through the pictures of her when she was a baby. I am not quite sure if she understands that was her but she enjoyed looking at the pictures of the smiling, happy baby. As I went through the photos there were many with her and daddy. He too was smiling and happy. It struck me that the most notable absence was myself. When I did run across the rare picture with mommy involved, I did not seem to share the same brilliant smiles of my husband and daughter.
Looking at those pictures from the early days of parenthood, I see someone who let her insecurities and fears rob her of one of the most amazing, magical experiences life can give you. I see in my eyes someone who was desperately trying to maintain a level of perfection, that I now realize, cannot be achieved.
My sister-in-law once commented on how clean my child's clothes were. There were no stains on them, unlike her boy's clothes. As I watch the video of my child's first cereal feeding, I can see how quickly I mopped up any traces of baby food. I can see my rigid, at-the-ready, arms prepared to not let a drop spill onto her. It makes me feel foolish and sad when I watch this video. Kids will get dirty, clothes can be washed, faces can be mopped up with a cloth.
For the past two years, I have been hyper-vigilant. Having a child turned up my neurotic tendencies to an eleven. Only time has broken me down some and now my daughter does have some proudly stained shirts. But it took two full years for this to happen. Two full years where I felt like a prisoner to my own issues and not the mother I wanted to be.
I want to be the strong, confident mom I know is somewhere inside of me. The one that is the anchor for her family, not the one who feels constantly adrift, wondering all the time if I am parenting correctly. I feel that person is slowly emerging.
God has given me a second chance with the impending birth of another child. Another chance to be in pictures with my daughters, to be smiling and happy, to have stained onesies, and arms that hold my girls, instead of arms that are ready to clean them up. I regret not holding my firstborn daughter more and enjoying those precious first months when they really only want you.
I feel blessed that God saw my needs and my regrets, he saw the stain on my heart that I didn't see. He didn't clean it up but allowed me to have the chance to recognize it for myself and wear it as a badge of honor.
