Sometimes I get ahead of/down on/hard on myself. I get stressed, I start feeling guilty about slacking here or not doing this or that. I get sad that my babies are growing at a rapid rate. I get nervous/excited/anxious/hopeful about our future. I get overwhelmed with work/home/parenting/responsibilities. I feel blessed and happy and content. Then I get nervous about feeling so happy/blessed/content. I try and try to do better. I set goals. I pray. I listen. I get disappointed in myself. I feel proud of myself. I surprise myself. I get inspired, and moved, and molded into the woman I'm becoming. I get anxious/depressed/weepy. I miss my tiny babies. I miss carrying them in my womb. I feel grateful for being able to carry them. To mother them. To love them. I feel blessed for my husband and my children. I feel loved. I feel really, really loved. And I love. I really, really love.
And in the middle of my day, in the middle of the whirlwind of thoughts in my head, I can take a deep breath and remember what it's all about...
And it seems I know exactly the purpose of my existence.
My life is far from perfect, but my goodness, it's perfect for me.
My life is far from perfect, but my goodness, it's perfect for me.
