My girl. I love her. Every day. All the time.
We have so many good days.
we also have our bad days.
Those days happen when we haven’t slept well the night before.
Or she challenges EVERYTHING.
Or she yells ALL. DAY. LONG. And heated words fly between us.
When her room is messy, her disposition ugly, and her mood volatile, I cringe. How do I handle this?
I want to throw my hands in the air and declare surrender. I want to escape to the nearest coffee shop,the library, any place without children.
But then I see photos like this. Or I see her at a vulnerable moment, sleeping, hurt, crying. And I remember. She’s 4.5 years old. She’s learning. She’s exercising her independence.
She’s my daughter.
The child I desperately yearned for after 2 heartbreaking miscarriages that left me feeling helpless, like I was doing something wrong. Like a failure.
And I think, I can do this. I can have more patience than needed. And I do.
And I know, our good days outnumber the bad.