Or how about my marriage? Good God, there’s an awful lot of room for improvement in my wifing skills. Just ask my husband. Like, I could stay awake past the kids bedtime and spend some actual time with him. Or we could plan outings together where we have idle time for conversation that isn’t 100% about the children we just left and doesn’t take place in stolen ten second interludes in between emergencies.
…if this was all we ever had, if it never went beyond raising these babies together and being lucky enough to have made a life with someone who loves the same people I love, with the same irrational craziness I have, then wouldn’t that have been more than enough?
Except same, because if this was all we ever had, if it never went beyond raising these babies together and being lucky enough to have made a life with someone who loves the same people I love, with the same irrational craziness I have, then wouldn’t that have been more than enough? Wouldn’t it have been the stuff of romance novels, the epilogue that happens after the drama dies down, the happily-ever-after?
Then there’s my body. What if this was it? What if I never get skinny enough again to fit into the jeans I insist on holding onto even though they have just as much of a chance of being worn again as Oprah does of actually doing the Thriller dance with me? What if this is as perky as my boobs are gonna be, or the smallest my waist is gonna get, or the easiest waking up in the morning is going to be from here on out? Can that be enough? Or will it only ever be enough later, like it is now when I look back on pictures of myself when I was younger and think oh Liz. What an idiot you were to be wasting your time worrying about any of that nonsense when you HAD NO IDEA HOW GOOD YOU HAD IT YOU BIG FAT DUMMY.
The thing about this truth is it works everywhere. My writing, my parenting, my marriage, my health, my career, my hair, my bank accounts, even my house. Sure, I’d love a cleaner and more modern everything where the decor is more shabby chic and less “my kid smeared poop on the wall,” but to look around at a place filled with the beautiful chaos of love and not see it as the gift that it truly is would be as silly as looking around at a life filled with the same and somehow coming up lacking.
Because here’s the real truth: If it was only ever this, only this and nothing more, then that would have been more than enough. It would, in fact, be everything*.
*Except Oprah. Still need her.
Liz is a writer, blogger, teller of stories, believer in truth, and mama to four. She shares her stories on lizpetrone.com and all over the Internet, and recently finished a sloppy first draft of her first book. She can also be found on Facebook, Instagram and Twitter.
