The Day Of A Mother

Every day I fail.

I fail to take enough pictures, yet somehow I also fail to be present enough. I fail to see things outside the lens of a camera, or without the screen of my phone. I fail to feed my daughter enough fruits and vegetables, I fail to give her enough water, I fail to give her enough exercise, I fail to make enough fun.

Some days I fail to comfort her. I fail to realize she is her own person, with her own wants and needs and feelings that need just as much validation as my own. I fail to understand her the first time, and sometimes I don’t even understand the second, or third.

I fail to give her enough time, enough lessons, enough patience.

Every single day I fail.

I fail to smile enough, I fail to laugh enough, I fail to keep my eyes open long enough to see exactly what it is she so desperately wants me to see.

Every day I fail to be enough for her.

Yet, every day she loves me anyway.

Every day I fail to see why.

Why does she love me when I am not enough? Why does she cling to me so desperately when all I can seem to do, is fail her?

What is it like to be a mother?

It’s to have someone love you with the intensity of the sun, when you feel as though all you can do right, is fail.

It’s to be more than enough to someone else, when you don’t feel like you’ve any worth. It’s to give when your cup is empty, and somehow have your cup filled by this little person without even noticing.

And, most days, it’s failing.

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