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Bittersweet

Apparently, while raising children, they may pick the most unexpected of times to bravely share the ways that you have recently let them down. For example, when you are unsuspectedly eating your salad for lunch.


Mid-bite, you suddenly feel breathless, remorseful, and befuddled as to how you arrived at this stop. “Shit, I thought we were headed to Disneyland,” you think to yourself, “not Disasterland.”


Allow me to clarify this epic parental failure: the conversation was spoken honestly, and delivered with equal parts love and tears.


Allow me to further clarify: it was BRUTAL.


How shall one prepare a counter argument when everything my daughter expresses is true? Every. Single. MF. Thing. She shared. I listened. She shared more. I listened more.


Ironically, when you are handed a newborn, nobody tells you about this part.


Standing up to embrace me, she concluded, “I’m sorry I made you feel like shit, Mama,” while grabbing my dirty plate to bring inside. Because she is that kind of kid :)


“Oh honey,” I said, taking an expansive inhale, “this is how we learn. It helps me to understand how you feel supported. I love you.”


And as she exits the premises just as swiftly as she had come, I realize that a mother can hold the bittersweet of a broken heart and hope as she patiently waits for grace to fill the cracks.


That is what my daughter taught me today.




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