Thirty Somethings...Thing 3

Day 03 → Something you have to forgive yourself for.

It's funny, I'd been composing this post in my head while I was giving the kids a bath, because that's how I roll with the rough drafting. The thoughts were swirling, and they centered around the idea that I really had nothing I felt compelled to forgive myself for. Nothing.

Lather...Rinse...Repeat...

I spent years sumo wrestling guilt and it was just...counterproductive. So I decided, quite a while ago, that I'm just forgiven. Not much posty sort of material there and it felt like a bit of a cop-out, but it was the best I could conjure up.

And then something interesting happened. Zee looked at me intensely, that piercing direct look, right in the eyeballs, the one that busy family life doesn't afford often enough, and she said, "Mommy, my growing bigger. When my get big my be just like you!"

"No, no, no, you don't, baby! You be just like you when you grow up!" was the first thought that frantically pounced between my ears, craving to escape my lips. But I said, "That's sweet honey. But I like you just like you."

When the student is ready, the teacher will come. Isn't that a saying? If it isn't it should be.

It made me realize that, while yes, I have come to terms with my inadequacies, I have yet to come to terms with my offspring coming to terms with my inadequacies.

So, perhaps what I need to begin doing in the forgiveness department is pre-forgiving myself for the idiosyncrasies and flaws that will eventually screw up my kids. In hopefully non-spectacular ways.

If I were truly prone to self-reflection and betterment, that would probably mean I'd vow to stop composing blog posts in my head and being more present during bath time. But, fuck it, I'm not that great of a person. I'm only human.

And one of the reasons the intense 'Locking of Eyes' moments are so incredibly moving is because they are so incredibly not the norm. A million of those moments might rob them of their worth.

But still, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I get lost in my own little world sometimes and forget to Be. There. Every Minute. of Every Day.

You know what, Zube? It's okay. You're forgiven. But I don't know about you, Mom.

Ouch. That would hurt. More than shampoo in the eyes, I'd imagine.