My son turns two today.
I don’t write much about parenting him. I certainly don’t write as much about parenting him as I write about parenting my daughter. There are a lot of reasons for this; mostly it’s because parenting him is a lot easier for me, and I don’t generally come here to write about the easy stuff.
What I should write about more is how thankful I am that he’s here, that he came in time for me to realize that I wasn’t failing as horribly at parenting as I thought I was, that there were other factors at play, that I was right when guessed that maybe I was having a different experience than most mothers, that when I mentioned something that felt hard and another mom commiserated and I felt like maybe we were talking about very different things, that we were.
My son taught me that I CAN be the mother I thought I’d be, even if I’m not that mother in challenging circumstances. Knowing that I can be that mother, that I am that mother, that the experience I expected was not completely out of my reach, was healing in ways I can’t describe. Only in finding that peace was I able to fully embrace the mother I am, and to glimpse the mother I could be, to my first child.
My son healed me in so many ways. He came to me when I had given up hope of having another child and he taught me things about myself that only a second child could teach me. I am always and forever filled with gratitude that he is here.
Thank you my sweet boy. I look forward to walking through life with you.