my biggest fear



Every night before we go to bed Tom and I sneak into Lana's room and watch her sleep. A lot of people talk about how small kids look while they're asleep, but I feel just the opposite. When she's laying there, stretched out across a crib that used to swallow her, I'm overwhelmed by how big she is. From sleeping in a tiny ball on my chest to curling up with her yellow stuffed giraffe and snoring quietly. How did my tiny baby get so big?

Honestly, it terrifies me. The thought of losing time, letting memories fade into the background. I've never really feared the future or worried about wasting a moment. But now, some days, those fears threaten to cripple me. I know that the future holds so many beautiful milestones for my little Lana Gray, but I'm not ready for them. I'm not ready for her to not need me. I'm not ready for her to not want me. 

What little I know about parenthood can be boiled down to this: it's just about doing your best. There is no formula, no tried and true path, no right answer. There's just fighting for a win each and every day, and I promise I'm fighting hard. But Lana might look back and not see that. She might not see that my heart was to love her and help her flourish into who she was created to be. That's what scare me most. That one day Lana might look at me with anger and resentment instead of wonder and adoration.

This motherhood thing is heartbreaking. When I look at her my heart swells to the point of exploding. Her cheek smushed against the mattress as she sleeps, the way she puts her chubby hand over her mouth as she laughs, the grin that spreads across her face when I pick her up. Those moments are so wonderful they almost hurt. If the good things are that good, I can only imagine the bad things will be that bad.

A year in, and my emotions are more raw now than on the day we brought her home. I thought the love I felt in those first hours and days was the most intense my heart could bear. I was so wrong. In every week and month that has passed Lana has hollowed out everything I thought I was and filled me with so much more. She's taught me about patience and grace, given me joy and pride, and dared me to love in an hugely bold and quietly humble way. 

There might come a day when these fears come true. If it does I'll be ready, because she's taught me about love. It is big enough to transform the core of my being and small enough to whisper "hold on tight, it'll pass". Just like the months where she nursed every hour or the weeks where she gave up sleep altogether, it will pass. As a mom I have to constantly remind myself that everything, everything, is just a season. 

So, instead of anticipating all the future might hold, let's absorb this very second that we have right now. Good or bad, it'll be over before we know it. 

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