It’s kind of strange, writing this on my iPhone instead of tapping away on a keyboard. About to write about my grown up life in a diary full of teenage angst.
I’m married, going on 4 years. I have a 4 year old. And a 2 year old. And They’re incredible. like legitimately incredible – I know every parent thinks their kid is incredible, but, I don’t even know where to begin to brag on these 2. They’ve got their momma’s sass and their daddy’s smarts and their own little special quirks.
Evelyn is my oldest, a competitive gymnast. A dancer. An artist. A bookworm (she’s reading CHAPTER books. At 4 years old).
And Logan is the baby. She wants to be just like her sissy. She’s sweet and snuggly, a momma’s girl through and through.
They are my pride, and my joy.
I’d like to say my whole life has changed, because of them. And while I have changed a lot for them. I won’t lie, there are still pieces of me that are broken and demons that I fear will never completely leave me. I’ve grown a lot since the prime years of this diary, but a lot of things have just grown with me. I thought that having it all (the husband, the kids, the house, etc) would make my life complete, that I would be happy. Because isn’t that all we ever wanted? To be loved? To be a successful person, with a successful life?
I am very happy with my life, yes. My kids bring me SO much happiness. But to truly BE happy? Those days are few and far between still. There’s still a lot that weighs on my heart. And I don’t even know why.