What if I told you, I have doubts.
Nights when I wake up craving tart yogurt and banana peppers and while my head is buried in the neon midnight glow of our humming refrigerator I start to wonder if I can ever love another baby quite as much as I love you.
What if I told you, I'm scared.
Horrified. Frozen with fright at the possibility that maybe I can't be a good mom to you both. Maybe my heart's not big enough. Maybe I need more sleep. Maybe my singing voice is getting raspy from all of the puffs on my inhaler and I will run out of lullabies for two. Maybe when one cries, I won't be able to be there quick enough. Maybe I'll run out of band aids and fairytales.
Maybe Maybe Maybe. Possibly Possibly Possibly. I share these fears because I need to purge them on the page. Get them out of my head and into the world so that I can give them life and then let. them. go.
Because it's okay, to be scared. To stand barefoot by the fridge for too long contemplating a love that is already so innately a part of me that I couldn't get rid of it if I tried. It would be like losing a limb, to lose my love for you- the tiniest Riley swimming around sharing those banana peppers with me.
It's okay to be worried, because isn't that what moms do?
Shouldn't I know that by now? We worry, we stress, we eat at midnight. We contemplate the What If's and then bask in the beauty that is the chaos around us- knowing that sooner or later the other shoe WILL drop- but somehow, we will be ready for it.
We will have a backup shoe.
We will have an escape route.
We will find the right words not because we are poets but because we are MOTHERS,
and through that inexplicably strong, all encompassing, earth shattering love that we have for our little ones- we will always persevere.