"The Imperfect *Me*"

Sometimes it gets lost in all the literature that I’m very very far from being a “perfect parent”. I mean, sure... no one is perfect and all that but I feel like it’s important to say that I’m just like all of you.

Always learning, stumbling, falling, getting up again and stumbling some more. Sometimes, stumbling into some growth. Mostly though, just two left feet making their way through parenthood.

The fanciful part of me likes to say things like... I’d be a better parent if I had more support. I’d be a better parent if my husband and I were on the same parenting page. I’d be a better parent if my cup could be fuller somehow.

I mean, I have my fair share of these “ifs”. But deep down I wonder if no matter what, I’d be just as flawed and as reliant on my sweet kids being as forgiving and resilient as they are right now. Probably. I think so.

The truth is that I’m very often struck by the thought that children are more superior human beings than adults. And I, for one, am glad that they are because I don’t know where I’d be without their unconditional love and acceptance of me.

“I love the way you speak to me,” Eisa says, giving me a sweet smile. “You do?” I say incredulously. “Yes, of course. You’re always kind and gentle.” “Oh sweet boy.. I don’t know... I feel like I yell a lot...” “Not a lot.. just a little.. but everyone does that.” “Do they?” “Sure!”

And with that he hops off.

I can only wish to give myself that kind of compassion.

Especially on days like today where despite me being a bit sick for a week... I can’t help but be hard on myself.

The house is too messy. I haven’t cooked a single meal in a weak. The kids are playing too many video games. I’m behind on my homework. I have to reply to messages. The house is too messy.

Sigh.

And then another little kid walks in the door and gives me a huge smile.

“I want you to godi me (put me in your lap),” he says as he plops himself on my lap in the bed it’s been hard to get out of lately. I smile and snuggle his silky hair.

On the worst of my days, my kids know I love them, I think to myself. They feel comfortable and happy around me. Comfortable enough to make these messes. This not-so-clean home feels like their home to them... where they’re safe to be kids.

It’s ok, then. I’m ok. I’m not perfect. But I’m doing ok. I will get better انشاللہ. I will overcome this. My children will help me overcome this. And suddenly, just like that, my heart is a little lighter. Happier. الحمدللہ