Girl, everythings gonna be ok

In 1990 I once cried silent fat tears at 1 am while walking around and around and around my cul-de-sac, my newborn child strapped to my front in a baby Bjorn.  They dripped off my face and onto her hair.  She was a teeny-tiny little girl with dark hair and the most glorious skin, tiny seashell ears, and perfect pink lips.  I had no clue what I was doing, but I loved her.  She cried loudly, wailing into the dark cold air and thrashing around the way infants do when their bellies are uncomfortable and uncomforted.  And I walked, and cried, and walked, and cried, and she cried until she fell asleep.  I still remember the helpless way I felt while she cried, and the enormous strength I felt when she finally slept, at peace, curled sweetly into my chest, right on top of my heart.
I wanted to lose hope but I kept hoping anyway.

In 2017 that same baby, now a fully grown adult living on her own 3000 miles away from me, flew those 3000 miles just to hold me while I wailed into the dark, and in the daylight, in uncomforted heartache. She'd previously spent endless hours on the phone with me, anchoring me, centering me, and being my heartbeat.

This is how parenting turns out...so don't lose  hope.

In 1996 I cried multiple times over another baby.  This one a strapping 9.5lb boy who couldn't be fed enough.  Who cried incessantly and insistently.  This one a peach of a baby, a chunky weight that wore me out all while I was trying to be a mom to his big sister.  His eyes were like planets - huge and dark.  He was round and solid and gorgeous, like a warrior angel.  I cried, he cried, she cried.  For most of 2 years we all cried.
I wanted to give up.  But I kept going anyway.

In 2011 that same peach of a baby threw itself at some other "peach" to protect his baby sisters honor at school.  Even though he got in trouble, he would do it again. And I would support him again.
In 2012 that same peach of a baby was a 6 foot 2 inch tall teenager who tenderly held his newborn baby brother in his long lanky arms and didn't want to put him down.  He went on to, later,  be the primary babysitter to his 18 month old baby brother for a year so I could work in the evenings.
In 2017 he showed up, all adult-like with a suitcase and his sweet girlfriend, from an hour away, to stay over on a dark winter weekend with me when I didn't think I could stand another night alone and needed an adult to keep me safe from myself.

This is how parenting turns out...so don't give up.

In 1997 I rarely cried over the sweet little cubbie that joined her siblings.  Tiny cub, all dark hair and snow-white skin and hazel eyes as big as the sky... she was an enigma.  Different.  Quiet.  Soft and tender...my littlest bear cub was dragged along everywhere in my busy days and was cheerleader to her big siblings and was the quiet wallflower...until night fell.  Two years passed and she was still firmly rooted in MY bed every night...all night...  I wondered if she'd ever leave.
I thought I'd lost my will to try.  But I kept trying anyway.

In 2016, and 2017, and 2018, and even now... this grown up, employed, self sufficient, bear-cub of mine still visits me at night.  Not every night, but somehow it is always when I am the one needing it most.  She holds my hand when I cry.  She brings me ice cream when I don't even know I need it.  She takes my debit card and the grocery list and does the shopping when I am too worn out with working and parenting and stressing and fearing.  She makes me laugh until I cry, even when I think I don't have a single laugh in me.  She eats everything I cook, even when it's crap, and then does the dishes.  She takes care of her baby brother as if she is a parent.  She is, literally, my right hand...I mean, she's left handed so....

This is how parenting turns out...so don't lose your will to keep trying.

In 2008 I also lost my marriage, my house, my entire life.  But not those 3 babies... not their hearts, not their love, not their connections.

In 2012 I didn't cry for the baby born unexpected and surprisingly in my 40's.  I rejoiced.  I was glad and proud and enamored.  His tears and different-ness didn't phase me in his infancy.  I knew what to do, and I knew I could withstand the endless nights and the bellyaches and the co-sleeping. 
But it's different now in 2019.  He's different.  His tears are different.  And so are mine. 
Yet I won't lose hope.  I won't give up.  I won't stop trying.

If I remain a single mom for the rest of his life, I will still have his siblings to help me, to be a support, to be my reminders for hope, for effort, for the will power I need.  If I never have a two parent "family" to raise this last child in, I will still have a "family"... and my youngest, sweetest, most individual kiddo will still have a family... he will still have someone to turn to, role models to follow, and love to keep him grounded.  I don't know if he will be the one to visit me when I am old and incontinent and unable - or if he will be the one with the get away car - or the one with the secret stash of contraband sugar and alcohol - or if he will be the one footing the bill for it all while his siblings do the work; but I know this:  I am not alone.  Parenting is worth the hard work, the tears, the sleepless nights, the discomfort and exhaustion and sacrifice and self-loss...but it's also worth the discipline and the nagging and the pushing and shoving and modeling and mistakes and forgiveness. Its worth teaching THEM to forgive ME.  I make mistakes.  Big ones.  I screw up.  OFTEN.  But they forgive me.  So maybe I've done something right in this life.  Maybe I've done something even more than "right".  Maybe I've done something good for this world by not losing hope, not giving up, not losing my will to keep trying. 

Maybe everything will be OK after all.