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On Monday, Ella will be 5 months old. Because I’ve had a super rough week, and because I now have to put away *forever* her 0-3 month outfits, I started getting a little emotional today.
I remember from almost the very moment we knew she existed, she was called Princess Peach. When people would ask what we were naming her, it was Princess Peach. Even while I was in labor, we discussed putting Princess Peach on her birth certificate. We couldn’t think of a single name that fit her besides the one bestowed upon her when she was as big as a seed.
After she was born, and we had already listed Ella Rose on her birth certificate, it still felt weird calling her anything else but P.P. Sometimes just Peach. Or, often times, just Princess.
And now she’s big and she rolls over and makes farty noises with her mouth and laughs at the stupidest shit. I adore her, I really do. While I realize that kids aren’t for everyone, having my G and my Princess Peach makes me feel sorry for people who don’t get to experience the absolute joy and the sometimes gut-wrenching pain that comes with raising kids.
My son just turned 11-years-old and worry about him going to public restrooms by himself. I worry that Ella will get cold if I don’t give her a blanket, or if she’ll smother herself if I do. I worry that my kids will grow up to be incredibly unhappy adults, and I worry that they’ll be wildly successful and still be incredibly unhappy.
I worry that they’ll reach their 30s and worry about their kids like I do. Or worse, they won’t worry about their kids at all.
Why, I wonder, with all this worrying, do we enjoy our kids so immensely? Why, if we screw things up on a daily basis, do they still manage to love us to a depth that we never fully understand until we realize that depth is how much we love them in return?
Princess Peach and G. My family, my home, my saving grace, my heart, my loves.
What’s your favorite thing about your kids? What is the one thing they do that absolutely melts your heart? No prizes, just gushing…