My eyes open with a tiny face an inch away saying, “Pee! Yeah!” and this prompts me to sit up and look for a puddle above or soaked into the bed. I’m not startled, exactly, because I know that I’ll handle it. Having children expands the (exponentially!) the capacity to adapt.
No pee spots that I can find without my glasses. I put them on and bring a smiling 1 and a half year old to the potty. She giggles and points at her accomplishment and we both smile.
This is the first day in 5 or 6 days that I feel like I actually slept. Often, I am filled with the feeling that the kids need more than I have to give. This is an ongoing, unhelpful, inner conversation where a part of me arguing with another part about what it means to be a parent.
Lots and lots and lots of people have this or similar strife about raising children. More than anything, it feels like a split between caring for others and caring for oneself. And the balance is constant and hard to maintain.
People ask me for things, for answers, that I simply do not have. I try to remember a time when I pressed someone for information that no one can know. I try to remember what was said to me that gave me hope.
Hope is its own entity. Existing without reason or proof. Words don’t capture what it feels like, what hope is like. Language is something we made so we could share experiences with one another, but language is limited. The most important pieces are felt and known.
You know when you are doing something that is congruent with Hope.
You just do.
Life Without Montages 