The past few days have been pushing me down, making me second-guess my decisions as a mother and sometimes a wife. Why is it that one day motherhood can lift me up and make me feel so confident and the next make me feel inadequate and unsure? Lately I've been feeling uncertain, thinking How did I ever think that I could be given charge over such a perfect, wonderful, joyful soul when I, myself, am so lacking?
I feel like all I do is experiment, pretend like I know what I'm doing: Will feeding him before bedtime help him sleep better? Should I go in at night to put the pacifier in, or should he just cry it out? Can I even handle crying it out? How can I make sure he doesn't get overstimulated when he's awake? But what if I'm not doing enough with him? How can I set boundaries for growth and still show him how much he's loved? And looming in the recesses of mind, What if I fail him?
I don't know if these thoughts really have a conclusion tonight, but there they are, typed and published, my vulnerability showcased to the masses. So, that's that, I suppose (probably my lamest conclusion to date).