Messy and colorful

For a good long while, our newly adopted kid brought out the best in us. I often told everyone that I had prepared for worse, I braced myself for impact but we had a smooth landing.

I faced things with courage and a clear mind: conflict, meltdowns, questions and uncertainty. But we were rested, fresh, trained. As the years go by, I wonder if I am an ideal parent for a 3 year old child. Period. Because they change, we change. They get comfortable, entitled | inˈtīdld enˈtīdld |
adjective; believing oneself to be inherently deserving of privileges or special treatment]
, and let me tell you, I have felt such joy for a long time to see my child gain confidence in asking for things. Once they master the self-worth expression, it’s not so cool and exciting. But I think it is love and the knowledge that she is fully accepted as a whole, that we love her no matter what, that she pushes her boundaries and our limits or better yet limitations.

Parenting is messy. I learned that the more I got comfortable in my shoes as a mom. But if it wasn’t messy I would question if it was real. The low lows, the feeling at the end of our wits, our snapping, her stumping her feet, giving us frustrated looks, the picking, the not listening. I think this is what I was most afraid of, the messy parenting. But in the trenches, as the war started, we don’t fear the chaos. We dread it but don’t fear it.
Parenting is messy and wonderful. I’m not going into the cheesy details of its wonderful aspect. But pouring life into another human being who desperately needs you, and with whom you hope and envision sharing the joys of old age…

I threaten my daughter that I’ll give her kids candy the way she gets candy from my mom. It’s only fair. But she says “I’m not allowed”. Then we both laugh. She turns five in a month. Life is colorful.