Last Sunday my son turned eleven years old. I still remember the day we brought him home from the hospital. Warm, spring, flowers everywhere. To this day I think of that day whenever I see dogwoods.
In about fifteen minutes five of his best friends will arrive to celebrate his birthday. This is the first moment I’ve sat down today, and I’m taking one of my more and more rare breathing moments. When I finally sat down today, I remembered something about that day we brought my first baby home from the hospital. I remember being excited, concerned because he looked so little in the rear-facing carseat, sore from the c-section I’d had a few days before, and really, really happy.
The one thing I don’t remember is doubt. I never doubted I could be a parent. Not at that time, anyway. Of course I had no doubts! I hadn’t made any mistakes yet. Since then I’ve had numerous doubtful moments. Am I a good parent? Am I ruining my child? Why does he behave so badly when I love him so much? Why do I?
Today I realized something. I have to approach each new day with the same attitude I had when I was a brand new parent who’d made no mistakes yet. Every day is new and mistake-free, and all I can do is work to keep it that way.