There are too many things that we’re supposed to know, and not enough daylight hours in which to learn them.
You will catch puke in your hand.
You will question whether or not your life is over… ruined, completely.
You will cry over milk,
you will cry over chicken nuggets,
you will struggle with car seats and preschool applications and the three million pieces of that cute Ikea bedroom furniture.
You will pause the first time you rush your child to the ER, and the forms ask who the mother is.
You will pray that you have half of the strength, courage and wisdom that your own mother has.
You will realize that all of your first times have created the foundation that your family is built on. And it’s strong. Stronger than you ever thought it could be, and it’s only because you actually know what you’re doing that you have made it this far. And then, when the night is still except for a 3-year-old lying perpendicular in your bed, you will watch the rise and fall of your child’s chest under their Batman jammies. You will notice, for the hundredth time, how their perfect little rosebud lips puff in and out as they sleep.
You will be overwhelmed with how much you love the chaos and the crazy, the hilarity and the adventure. You are complete because you are together. You have survived on love, luck and lots of hard-earned lessons. You will remove a small, ice-cold foot from your ribcage, and reach over the drool spot that your child has left on your sheets, to take your partner’s hand. And you will say with confidence that you are ready to do this again.
Because you can’t imagine not ever having another first time.