It was a girl.
My heart expanded and collapsed. My mind raced. I was terrified. How was I to raise a child? Just because I was one didn't mean I knew how to handle one.
Yesterday that little ultrasound drove my car. I sat in the passenger seat terrified. Again. I had made it this far, raised her with every ounce of motherhood in my being, only to release her into this world. Then it hit me. Not the car next to us, the realization that my job was nearing its end, but was it good enough? Had I earned my wings of motherhood?
The only thing perfect about my parenting has been the love for my children.
After four children, I believe there is no easy way to parent, there is no right way, there are no text book answers. However I did find a parallel...
Parenthood is similar to photography:
Both are birthed by passion.
You are successful not just due to manuals or classes,
but mostly through instinct, dedication,
and an unquenchable desire to create something special
which will someday touch the lives of others.
It takes years to see the results you spent your whole life dreaming of.
The pain of giving birth is relieved in the moment you hold that perfect image in your hands.
There will be many mentors, but the result will only be unique if it's nurtured by you.
Children are like negatives. Not until they fully develop will you see the results of your labor.
Memories are created but never owned,
just as children are birthed,
they must venture out and alter the world
in even the smallest of ways.
It's the little moments nobody else notices which will grab your heart
burrow into your soul
and change your life...
forever.
