On Being Enough

Blaine was gone for almost two weeks, meaning I’d have another go at this motherhood thing solo. Apprehension set in, making me wonder if just me was enough for Forrest. Enough for his comfort, his sustenance, his nap times, his bedtimes, his bath routines, his safety, his everything. If just me, showing up as I am, would be enough.

I was wrapping my little man up in his swaddle, leaning in for a kiss, when he giggled at my messy hair tickling his face. I did it again and again, his smile lighting up his tiny face. Then it hit me. I am more than enough. And this is one part of motherhood that floors me time and again. I get to show up, just as I am, flaws and all. In the beginning, I’d feel bad for how I showed up to mamahood. Disheveled, overly tired, beyond extended and making it up as I go. Nothing has really changed except for my understanding of this role. I still show up bleary eyed, sans deodorant or with still fuzzy teeth, wearing some holey semblance of an outfit I call pajamas. And yet, my sweet boy takes me as I am. He greets me with the same loving smile as ever. His little eyes light up as if I’d come down the red carpet.

Where I see a messy, unruly bun, he sees his entertainment and source of laughter.
Where I feel a soft and stretched-marked stomach, he feels his resting place.
Where I feel expanded and weary arms, he finds his cuddling spot.
Where I see tired eyes, he sees his source of joy and unconditional love.
Where I find waning energy, he finds my consistent presence.

This love of ours is new. It’s growing each day and deepens over time. He doesn’t know it yet, but the grace he’s teaching me, the understanding he’s giving me, softens and shapes me into the best mama for him I can be.

Just as I am—enough.