Not the taunt, tight steel ropes held a loft in a circus tent to display great feats of courage. No. My tight rope is like a wet wobbly noodle or the rope that a cartoon charter would walk.
It wobbles and bounces. One minute it’s straight and hard and I feel like I have it together and the next it’s wiggling and bouncing and slipping all over.
Parenting is hard. I’ve seen a saying that goes “I love my children with all my heart I just don’t always like them”.
Sometimes our kids are mean and rude and they scream and they yell and they fight sleep and they bite you and you just want to (and sometimes do) scream back. We all have off days.
When my baby acts up though. When she is pushing me to the edge so hard I can see the black bottom coming faster and faster, I am slammed in to a rock of guilt.
She’s a blessing, a second chance, you need to appreciate every. single. minute.
I do. I know this. I know this so deep that it hurts and it pulls and that tight rope of spaghetti goes all wobbly and cannot be controlled and then I fall.
Because I’m still human.
I’m still a mother and parenting is hard.
Parenting with the shadows of fear and loss only make it that much harder and more slippery of a path.