My girl is amazing. I could watch her movements all day. At only two years-old, she has such a natural confidence in her step–one I don’t even carry at twenty-six. Her spit-fire personality lures other children, even twice her age or more, to follow her around.
I can’t help but laugh to myself as she kicks off her rain boots to frolic about the backyard, barefoot. A girl whose eyes mimic mine, certainly does not take after me in this sense. She definitely favors her mommy, but is as independent as they come. Which, I must admit, I rather like about her.
When Emmalyn was just several weeks old, and I couldn’t see the light at the end of the tunnel, I once said to my mother, “I wish you could just take care of her for a couple of years, and I’d come back when I felt better.”
Emmalyn is two years old now.
Imagine everything I would have missed, had my wish actually came true?
I would have missed her learning how to crawl and laugh.
I would have missed her first steps.
I would have missed a bazillion irreplaceable hugs and slobbery kisses.
I would have missed her saying, “I love you, Mommy” for the first time.
My life would not be as rich and fulfilling as it is now if I had *sat out* the last two years. I’m thankful for those around me who pushed me to meet my potential in my role of motherhood.
Getting through depression really puts things in perspective. When I’m exhausted and can’t imagine enthusiastically reading We’re Going On a Bear Hunt for the umpteenth time, I think about how lucky I am to have a healthy child, and to be healthy myself. Some aren’t so fortunate. Some would give up everything they have to read to their child just one more time.
Postpartum depression or not, I still have days where I want to pull my hair out because Emmalyn has just thrown Cheerios all over the department store floor–again. There are days where I want to crawl up into a ball on the couch and wait for tomorrow. But my experiences have taught me how to *get it together* and BE the light at the end of the tunnel.
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