perspective and gratitude and memories and kids

every day really is perfect. the memories I so desperately cling to are shrouded in mist and gold when I think back on them, never noticing the aura of beauty encapsulating my present moments. the ones that will eventually become memories. everything feels so profound when looking back, you know. but in the moment it feels so incredibly ordinary. I’ll be with the kids, experiencing a moment that I know is golden and beautiful, but my mind is filled with depression anyway. I won’t remember that part. or at least I hope I don’t. I hope I just remember the joy of my children, the warm glow of the dim light from the nightstand on their soft, smooth skin. the feeling of gratitude. my soul feels like it’s salivating for meaning and purpose, and yet every single day that’s really all I’m shown. my meaning. my purpose. it lies in the little human beings that cling to me so desperately for comfort. how could the idea of purpose be lost to me? I must be lacking in gratitude and perspective. I can’t find another explanation for my lack of awareness.

today, Ronan kept complaining about a pain in his lower, left abdomen. he was crying and screaming about it with my mom the other day. I felt where he said it was sore, and there was a swollen tightness. it terrified me, but I tried to remain calm. I took him to the urgent care clinic, and he was so sweet with the doctor. she placed her hand on his tummy in different spots, palpating his organs, looking for signs of pain in his face. he placed his hand on top of hers as her hand loomed around on different areas. he was scared at first, and then he started giggling, like she was tickling him. I have no idea why, but it brought tears to my eyes. it was such a sweet moment between two strangers. he turned out to be just fine, and I felt more joy and gratitude in that moment than I can rightly express. I hugged him and we high fived over and over because he was okay. I didn’t make a big deal out of it to him, but in my mind, I was deeply relieved.

right now, Lucas is on the floor in his forest green overalls, pushing around his favorite toy right now–a yellow monster truck. he will occasionally catch my eye and give me a sweet grin. also occasionally standing up bravely, only to sit back down again. he’s trying so hard to walk. he’s not yet a year, just a few weeks shy, and his presence in my life has warmed me up in every way. I can’t wait to see who he becomes on the journey of his life. I hope I’m good enough for him and for Ronan. that’s all I could really ever want. to just be worthy of my kids. they’re such delightful, angelic human beings, and I feel like a sour grape, a ruined seed, perched up on my maternal position of power, with nothing to offer them other than my entire, full heart. I pray that it’s enough.

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