A 33-week baby kicks in my belly, it shakes and rumbles like an earthquake with aftershocks. I see his arms and legs trail across; I feel and watch, amazed at what our bodies can handle and at what we are capable of. Ryan is a few months short of five years, and Connor will be three in a month and a half. Every day brings a new, surprising parenting challenge. Every day brings sweet moments of joy and happiness. Every day brings peace, too. As a young adult I was always looking for peace, but there's something about parenthood, that has taught me to relax, because I have learned that I can only do so much, and we are all doing the best that we can with what we have.
I've been watching the Handmaids Tale, and at one point in season two, the main character, June, is reflecting on her mother and her daughter, and she thinks: "No mother is ever completely a child’s idea of what a mother should be. And I suppose it works the other way around, as well. But despite everything, we didn’t do badly by one another. We did as well as most." These words were so true for me—I will strive to do the best I can, and my children will feel what they feel about me, and I will feel what I feel about them—and hopefully in the end, we will know that we loved each other and did the best we could, and that will be enough.