I want to be a good mother. No strike that. I want to be an amazing, perfect and wonderful mother.
I was not what I wanted to be from the beginning.
I should never have ignored the voice in my head for the weeks that I did. Something clicked in my head when I first saw Evie. In a way that should've warned me. She was so beautiful, so soft, so pink and perfect. Even with heart rate monitors and IV's sticking out of feet and hands, she was beautiful. And all I could think was "I'll never be able to do this. What have I done?"
This isn't right. You'll never be able to be enough for her. You'll never be able to be enough for your husband.
My brain was sly. It preyed on my weakness, on my desire to be perfect and to do everything perfectly.
I felt constantly guilty. Guilty that I couldn't quiet her screams. Guilty that I resented getting out of bed in the middle of the night. Guilty that I couldn't put my daughter's needs over the emotional and physical pain I was experiencing.
Guilty that my biggest fear was being left alone with my own child.
I could never be enough for her. I thought I should leave. Go. Get out. Get away. Go back to Colorado. Leave. Let someone else who would be enough take care of her.
I was wrong. With the help of my husband and and some pharmacologicals, I grew to see that. I grew to know that I could be enough for the miracle that is my little girl. That together her father and I make up the team that will be her strongest and loudest champions.
I regret every second I spent concerned over being enough intead of kissing her face, blowing raspberries on her belly and listening to her quiet breath as she slept.
I may spend the rest of my life trying to make that up to her, even though I KNOW I was sick and I don't have to. I will sneak in extra kisses, raspberries on her tummy and even secret mid-night visits to listen to her quiet breathing.
I may not be the perfect mother. I may not be the perfect wife.
But now I KNOW I'm a good mother, and a good wife. And that, is more than enough.