A letter for all the children and all the parents

A letter for all the children and all the parents:

    I thought you had it all figured out. I thought you knew what you were doing. I believed that on the day I was born, the day that you became a parent you were imbued with some magical transference of knowledge. I believed that becoming a parent ment that you instantly knew everything, knew what to do, how to be the perfect parent, had all the answers. I would lash out and screw up and I expected you to understand why, to know exactly what I was feeling, to know how to fix it. I couldn’t understand why you looked so lost, why you couldn’t just make it all better. 

    I am all grown up now. I have a child of my own. On the day she was born, as I held her in my arms, I waited… I waited for that transcending moment when I would be imbued with all of the wisdom and confidence I would need to be her parent, I waited for all of the answers to come to me. But as I looked down at the fragile little being in my arms all that I felt was fear. A terror all consuming, a fear unlike anything I had ever felt in my life. And beside my fear I felt Love. A love so strong, so deep, as all consuming as the fear. A love I never thought was possible to feel. A love that only strengthened my terror. How could I love someone so much? How was I supposed to insure that she was always happy, always safe? How could I be responsible for the well-being, the future, the life of this perfect little person? I knew in that moment that I would screw it all up, I would stumble and fall, I couldn’t be perfect. But I also knew that I would try. I would crawl on hands and knees through broken glass, I would fight my way through hell, I would pick myself up after every fall, for her. And hope that one day when she looks into the eyes of her own perfect little person that she will understand and forgive me.

     What I am trying to say is… I know you love me and I know you are scared, and I forgive you. You weren’t perfect, you dropped the ball, you stumbled and you fell, and you gave me hope that someday she will forgive me too. 

    I’m still your child. Somedays I’m still going to look to you to know all the answers, to know exactly what to do. And on those days I will look at her and remember that being a parent is the hardest job in the world and its okay not to have all the answers. 

          Thank you.

                 – your child.

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