Before I became a parent

 Before I became a parent, I really thought I had it all figured out.

I imagined peaceful mornings, meals from scratch, a clean house that stayed clean, and kids who giggled more than they cried and always listened.

I thought love would hit me the second I saw them.
That I’d never yell.
That I’d always know what to do.

Then real life came in like a storm.

The mornings are chaotic and rushed.
Dinner’s often whatever I can grab fast.
The house is a mess more than it’s not.
And the kids?
They push every single button I didn’t know I had.

The love didn’t come like a fairytale.
Sometimes it came slow.
Sometimes I had to dig for it through the fog of exhaustion, frustration, and guilt.

No one warned me how often I’d doubt myself.
How many nights I’d cry in the shower.
How many times I’d feel like I was completely failing.

But they also didn’t tell me about the way my child’s hand would wrap around my finger like it belonged there.
Or how hearing “I love you, mama” would break me wide open in the best way.

Parenthood didn’t look like what I imagined.
It’s messier.
It’s louder.
It’s harder.

But it’s also more raw.
More real.
More beautiful.

And I wouldn’t trade any of it. Not for anything.