Perfect, then not

Everything’s perfect.

Then it’s not.

Suddenly everyone’s crying, I can’t find the wipes and the potatoes are boiling over.

I’m sweating, rushing and trying to put out three different blazes all at once.

In these moments I’m holding on by a thread.

My patience dangles over the so many mountains I’ve climbed today.

The ones covered in the tired fog that these days consist of.

But I hang on.

Sometimes for dear life.

I take a deep breath.

Then keep going.

And when I can’t -

When the inevitable slips occur from time to

time -

I get back up and try again.

I do what I need to in the imperfect moments to keep my perfect little humans soaring.

Because they need me to hold on.

And I want them to soar.

This is motherhood.

It’s the view from the top of the mountains, followed by the hard climb up the next.

Everything is perfect.

Then it’s not.

But this is the way it’s meant to be.

Children are meant to be messy, loud and full of so many emotions they can’t understand.

And I am meant to be adapting as I go.

I mustn’t forget that.

There is a purpose in the imperfect.

In the holding on and dangling.

And I know I’ll see it one day, if not today.

Because when I’m there, at the top of the final mountain, my children walking to the next on their own,

I’ll see -

It was never just about the view from the top.

It was about the growth that got us all there too.