It Doesn’t Look Perfect, But It’s Full of Love

There’s approximately a gazillion other things I should be doing rather than writing this blog post.

I should be working (like, actual adult-working) because it is very much working hours, and the data I was supposed to clean is still… not clean. I should be prepping lunch, or at the very least deciding if lunch is going to be real food or whatever snacks I can assemble into a meal-shaped arrangement.

I should be playing with my toddler, who is currently entertaining himself with the Lego set we got for this birthday. I should be cleaning the house, which currently looks like a “before” photo on a home makeover show. I should definitely be washing the coffee cup I used this morning. Honestly, I should be making breakfast in the mornings like a responsible grown-up instead of relying on caffeine to keep me going.

And let’s not forget: I should be writing my books. You know, the ones with the looming deadlines. But instead, I’m here, blogging into the void and trying to convince myself that typing something counts as progress.

Being a mom, an employee, a wife, and a writer is not so much a balancing act as it is a circus performance where I’m the clown, the ringmaster, and the woman getting shot out of a cannon, all at once.

Some days I feel like I’m doing it all. Other days, I feel like I’m doing everything badly and just hoping no one notices. I have days where I’m answering emails with one hand, wiping a spill with the other, and reciting bedtime stories from memory, all while mentally drafting a plot twist for Chapter 14. Then there are times I realize I forgot to eat, respond to my boss’ message, or move the laundry I washed two days ago.

And it’s not just me. My husband is right there in the chaos, too. Sometimes, it feels like we’ve got this beautiful rhythm going. Other times, we’re two overtired people blinking at each other across a pile of laundry, arguing over whose turn it is to microwave the leftovers.

Through the chaos, we’re doing our best. We’re showing up. For work. For our kid. For each other. We try to laugh when we can, cry when we need to, and apologize when we’re snappy. We forget things, lose things, burn the food, leave toys in every room. We argue about stupid things like why the bottle sterilizer is beeping like that, and then we laugh because we’re too tired to keep being mad.

Meanwhile, the writer in me (the version of myself who used to romanticize late nights at the keyboard) is over in the corner asking me if I remember her. And I do. I try to give her scraps of time, stolen moments after bedtime, a few words scribbled in my phone’s notes app.

It’s not perfect. It’s rarely graceful. But we’re doing it.

So if you’re reading this while reheating your coffee for the third time, answering work emails with a toddler on your lap, or just trying to keep your head above water, heads up, mama: you’re doing great. Really. You are. It may not always feel like it, but showing up is enough.

And in case no one’s told you today, you’ve got this.