Right now I am writing this with a 28 pound toddler snuggled against my chest and sleeping.
She fell asleep in the car on the way home from the grocery store, and when she woke up in her crib an hour later, she wasn't happy about it. She stood up and screamed "MoMMEEEEEEE" at the top of her lungs until I came.
I had things to do. Paperwork to take care of. Laundry to wash. Writing to do. I wanted to have a cup of tea in quiet.
But I went.
I walked into her room and her face lit up. "Hii Mommyy!!"
I picked her up. She nestled her head into my shoulder. Five minutes late we were on the couch and she was asleep.
And that's okay.
It doesn't seem like that long ago that I would have been breaking dishes over this. I would have been inconsolable that my plans were ruined. I would have been frustrated and angry and disappointed, and no one could gave convinced me that it was okay.
She won't be standing in a crib waiting for me much longer. I don't know when she'll stop wanting to curl up on my chest to sleep. I don't know how much longer her hair will smell like baby shampoo.
And it won't be just me and her for much longer.
So today I can sit here. I can wrap her in my arms and kiss her head and she can sleep here as long as she wants.
And today, I know I'm okay. At least for now. I know I won't be again. I know I'll get angry, anxious, devastated even. I know there's at least as much hard ahead of me as behind me.
But I know I can make it through and I know why.
And I can even type about it with one hand.