Some days I am amazed by the huge, intense, real, deep NEED my girls have for me.
I can love them up so hard, snuggle them so tightly they feel like part of my body again, and they come back the next day, ready for more.
Sometimes I check to make sure it’s not just me, overestimating my importance to them, but no. It’s real. My girls need me like they need food, water, and sleep.
The depth continues to surprise me. And, at times, overwhelm me.
Some days I just don’t have it for them. I don’t want to arbitrate fights for the Kitty plate or cajole them into their PJs or tell any “Laura & Nellie” stories.
But it’s impossible to resist them for long. Their need for me comes from such an innocent, real place that I find ways to rise to the occasion, again and again.
To read the giant stacks of books. To wrestle on the floor. To relax into bedtime rituals instead of hurrying through them.
To make peace with the fact that I don’t see my friends, #lean in, or run as often as I’d like.
Some day this need will lessen, or at least transform into something less physically intensive. But for now they are not growing out of it — not yet. My three year old (OK, nearly four) needs me as much as my just-turned-two year old. Probably more. (And yes, Bee is still in our bed most nights. Heaven help us when Blythe outgrows her crib).
I have learned
one thing a lot of things in my nearly four years as a parent. Such as, you can’t continually fill up your kids’ buckets if yours is empty. Like they say: “If mama ain’t happy, ain’t nobody happy.”
Fortunately, filling up my girls is something I need, too. Along with sleep (now plentiful), coffee, the occasional date night, and time with friends.