I love being a parent. I soak up every moment, watching my little human buddy blossom before my eyes.
“Mom, is it ‘great’ or ‘shit’ I can’t say?”
I take full responsibility as the resident swearer in the household, but this particular confusion? That’s all on her. To be fair, we were deep into her favorite level of Super Mario Bros., and her little Yoshi had been kicking his legs furiously, trying to clear an impossible gap. I see how she got there.
Meanwhile, I feel… blah? The question mark is intentional—because how else do you describe the restless feeling of wanting to do something but not knowing what, so you end up doing nothing?
Except, I do things. Today alone, I made crackers from my sourdough, prepped dough for sandwich bread, counseled for five hours, and practiced Spanish. But where’s the cherry on top? That thing that adds sparkle, that moment where life kisses you on the forehead and tosses confetti in the air?
The truth is, my expectations are the problem. Introducing Evelyn to Sesame Street, eating a warm spaghetti dinner with my family, and knowing the people I love are safe and well—that’s enough. More than enough. But sometimes, when I’m too busy waiting for the next great thing, I miss the chance to connect more deeply—with someone, with something, or even with myself.
Is there anything else to add for tonight?
Just prompting myself here—nudge, nudge, speak now or forever hold your peace.
Nothing?
Alrighty then. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 