Our lives are not the same, and neither are our worries.
I see how you fear that you aren't capable of being a good mom. I feel all good moms fear this, too.
We wonder if we will be able to deal with the challenges, and the largest truth is that we are braver than we think and more human — and in need of asking for help — as well.
I know you have people surrounding you cheering and congratulating, and you deserve this. I don't think those surrounding you, who are already in the throes of dirty diapers and little kid cuddles, can adequately describe to you why we are so elated.
I know you see my own stress, and the circles under my eyes. You might be eager for a few parent challenges of your own, but you, understandably, don't want the way I can't finish sentences when my kids are running circles around our feet as we talk.
I want to tell you that these tiny feet have worn more tracks over my heart than anything or anyone else — nothing has so clearly foot-marked a path of easy love, or difficulty, or gratitude and change; no one besides these tiny soles have altered me with such precision.
The biggest change so far has been accepting that I can't control everything. The biggest revelation has been acknowledging that I'm glad I can't.
I might change some things if I could. I might make hurdles move out of the way of these tiny feet — but these are their lives, not mine, and I'm more grateful than I can explain to you to simply be a part of it.
Becoming a part of someone else's life, on a daily basis, day in and day out, and knowing the smallest of details about one another holds so much magic. Love exists like never before when we are see-through to someone else, and when they are transparent with us. I know it feels scary, vulnerable and raw to love this way, but that's why this love is like no other.
I know you don't know exactly what the future holds, but the real secret is that none of us do.
I won't pretend that each day is an easy one, or even that most of them are; loving and caring for children is complex and simple all at once — it's not something we can place into perfect words, it's something we live imperfectly.
I'm so, so ecstatic for you.
I'm so ready to see the wondrous look on your face while you watch your coming little one see and hold and know things for the first time. I'm so ready to watch your face light up with this kind of love that I talk about, because I can't tell you how motherhood feels from the inside (and that parents joke about, because we need to know that other people, too, are going through this mad chaos and this exaggerated love).
You will be the best mom.
Your child is lucky.
I'm so happy for you. (And I promise I'll remind you of this when you need to hear it again, when you're tired and have your own under-eye circles, and I promise also that I'll mostly just listen.)