Maybe for you the thought of one day looking back in nostalgic admiration makes you more grateful for the moments in front of you.
Maybe this idea that the tired eyes and rocking a baby that refuses to sleep will one day be a fond memory is all you need to drop back into the beauty of your reality.
But for me it makes me retreat even further. It’s a sentiment filled with self-judgement and highlighting all the ways I am not fit for parenthood.
“One day you’ll wish you had more of these moments.”
What the fuck is wrong with me that I just can’t enjoy it now.
While fleeting moments touch me with love, and the gratitude is eternal, I feel broken, I don’t feel good enough, I do not feel made for this. I wish I could pluck out my brain and hit the reset button. I wish I could find joy in the sleeplessness and the overstimulation. I wish I could just play, and laugh, and brush things off, knowing it’s all part of the beauty of this phase. But they weigh heavily on me every moment of the day.
The well is so empty it has nothing left to give and no space to fantasize about the day I might miss this. Imagining myself old and looking back longingly at these moments sends me so deep into the darkness I’m not sure I’ll ever get out.
I need this moment to cry.
I need permission to find it hard.
I need the space to let it all out.
And maybe then the joy will find itself back in.
