All I really know how to do is love them.
No, let me change that. All I really know how to do WELL is love them.
Shower them. Engulf them. Swarm them. With love.
I know I give in. Give up.
I wrap my arms around them when I “should” turn my back.
And let them cry.
I kiss their tears away.
When maybe those tears were just for show.
I help a girl too old to put her socks on her feet
Even help her get the fork to her mouth
When I see exhaustion overtaking her.
I let a proud boy walk out with his pants on backwards
With a shirt far too small
Because it’s his Favwit
And he put them on himself.
I’m told to be strong.
Show them who is boss.
Don’t get walked on.
And I am.
But it’s not what I do well.
I’m told my “way” is the easy way.
Showing this much love
Having this much patience
is the EASY way.
If spending 30 minutes adjusting the sock line
On her feet so she doesn’t feel the threads on her toes
If rubbing her back each night
Consoling her that her fear of throwing up
Is not reality
If holding her hand
Until she falls asleep
To show she doesn’t need to suck her thumb
If allowing them both to rest their fever hot heads
On my shoulders
For days on end
Because they don’t want to be alone
If not getting sleep for three months straight
Because he’s afraid of monsters
If making three meals
For four people
Because I prefer they eat
Instead of going to sleep hungry
If cleaning up their mess
So that they can play those extra ten minutes
With each other
Enjoying each other
If making up a song
About fire trucks
And race cars
To sing at bedtime
My way. Is the easy way.
But it’s all I know I can do. Well.
Love them. Give myself to them.
And I can’t apologize for that.
Because in the end
When the end of this mothering thing stares me in the face
I’ll know. I did what I knew how to do.
Right or Wrong.