The past few weeks have been exhausting. And soul-crushing. (I will never marry again. I will never marry again. I will never marry again. Well, maybe I will. If I find a Unicorn.) I try not to make this blog a platform of bitterness (I'm looking at you, Katinka of 2009, for shame), so I won't tell you why exactly.
But, my goodness. My goodness.
But I'm not here to talk about that. (1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 7, 8, 9, 10...woosah.) I'm here to talk about incredible grace.
If you ask me about single motherhood I will tell you about:
- How parents always come charging when asked. How they come silently, gently, when not. How they always come. They always, always come.
- How brothers grow up to be the sort of men that you are in awe of. Such talent, such intelligence, such humility, such magnificent sense of Others.
- How family prays for you. And roots for you. And reminds you that you are made of sterner stuff. That dignity runs in the family. That miracles happen.
- How friends just give. And give. And give. And tell you, to stop being mothering them, to let them mother you.
- (But also, thank you for letting me mother you all.)
- How your child reminds you that you have to stop and listen. Kiss like the Maoris do. Smell armpits. Make laway bubbles. Reminds you that your biggest mistake will cause you a lot of things (good riddance), but the ones that are important, will remain the same (thank God).
And in all things—even if that "all" isn't much—I give thanks.
