Wash Rinse Repeat

My days are pretty much the same in their simplicity. Wake up and referee the chaos.

That's kind of where I am in life. In a constant reminder that while my children are a reflection of me, I am not them.

Just as their achievements are not mine, neither are their short comings. M is crawling because she was ready to crawl. She is pulling herself up because she wants to. (Because I don't want her to if we're being honest.)

It's hard to accept that sometimes though. To keep the perspective. To be secure in the knowledge that while I can help them learn and guide them, ultimately I have little control over their actions. Sure, I can dictate where they are located and what food goes into their bellies and when. But I can't magically stop a fit, calm the sadness or even make them eat the food I present to them.

My kids aren't rational beings yet. So sometimes they're going to cry. Sometimes (often) they're going to say no. And the frustration I feel at these instances are nothing compared to all the big feelings swirling around in their little bodies.

It's overwhelming. In the thick of it, it can be down right disheartening.

Then I figure it out again and the whole parenting thing doesn't seem so daunting.

But I'll probably blame myself again this time next week.

It goes in cycles. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.