Up until this point, I have somehow been able to manage motherhood mostly successfully. Schedules are my thing. Organizing shit is my M.O. I file dates, events, and milestones in my memory like files in a drawer. I functioned on little to no sleep for six consecutive years. I love reading out loud. I genuinely enjoy playing outdoors. I can handles cuts and scrapes and stomach bugs. But the big stuff? The life-changing stuff? I'm not sure about that.
This is the start of a decade where egos will sting, willpower will be tested, friendships will become increasingly important, and bumps and bruises will manifest into broken hearts and teenage angst.
As I depart from just mothering young girls, I think I'm most afraid of being exposed. Of letting my rawest emotions be tapped. I'm scared of my biggest fears becoming true potentials. But, there really is no going back. No do-overs, no hang on a minutes. I'm trying to stay positive and optimistic. I don't want my own fears to prevent me from enjoying this pivotal time. We are entering a decade where Danica will begin as the sweet girl I know, and will emerge as a woman I've yet to meet.
The morning I went labor with Danica, I remember curling up on my bathroom floor and whispering to my swollen belly, "I promise we'll figure this out together." I hope I can hang onto that same wistful sentiment as we celebrate 10.
