Holding me together

I held them first,

But they hold me together every day.

And not physically, although the arms around the neck hugs can make it feel like it sometimes.

It’s what they don’t know they do, and the things I never have to, or would ever ask for them to do.

It’s them. Their innocence. Naivety. And purity.

They emanate what it is to care only for what matters - what truly matters - in any given moment.

They run around in their nappies, and they love how it feels to have the sun touch their soft skin. They don’t care whether their tummy looks bigger than it did yesterday.

They tell me they love me in front of others. They cry for me in front of others. They smile at me in front of others. They simply do not care what others think about showing their feelings right now.

They wear mismatched outfits, colours they like, and anything that makes them feel good. They do not care for the latest styles or who will see them wearing the same thing they did last week.

They eat when they are hungry. And they enjoy what they choose to eat. They do not care what time it is, or what that food may mean for the size of their pants.

They love making mess. That’s their favourite. They smile most when the house is full of colour and craziness. They do not care what visitors may think when they come over.

They are in a stage of life where the ugly parts of living in today’s world do not worry them.

Where they are themselves in every moment.

Where they live simply and freely.

And when I am consumed by the ugliness of the world, and the expectations and societal pressures that we are unfortunately faced with as women, mothers and adults, they are there for me in these ways.

These small (to them), but big (to me) ways.

They are my constant reminder of what really matters.

Living, to live.

Loving, to love.

Caring, to not care.

And as they grow, all I can do is show them how to hold themselves together (or put themselves back together) when the world tries to pull them apart too.