No one could have prepared me for the level of doubt I have encountered the closer I have gotten to parenthood.
The tears. The fear.
The "Oh my goodness what if the child spikes a fever and I don't have a thermometer and that whole rectal temperature just sounds gross and cruel and how on earth do you potty train boys and what if I get a drug addicted baby that never stops crying and I go back to the crazy-eyed intense insomnia Abigail that forgets everything and fights a constant bad mood that existed in college and I can't keep up and I just end up being really bad at what everyone has always said I'll be really good at and then what and can I really do this, just me and God and a whole lot of caffeine" monologue that starts up right around the time I close my eyes to sleep at night.
I have doubts that I can do this alone. I have doubts that I will be the kind of parent that I've always envisioned. That I'll let stress get to me. Or my house will be a hot mess. Or I won't have the answers to their questions. I won't know how to guide them, to show them how to love Jesus and love others.
I have doubts. I have fears.
But they're normal, right? This is a big deal. I'm becoming a parent. To broken kids. From broken families.
And somehow, through the strength that I can only assume that God will give me, I'll parent and I'll do everything I can to help bring restoration for those kids and their families.
The tears. The fear.
The "Oh my goodness what if the child spikes a fever and I don't have a thermometer and that whole rectal temperature just sounds gross and cruel and how on earth do you potty train boys and what if I get a drug addicted baby that never stops crying and I go back to the crazy-eyed intense insomnia Abigail that forgets everything and fights a constant bad mood that existed in college and I can't keep up and I just end up being really bad at what everyone has always said I'll be really good at and then what and can I really do this, just me and God and a whole lot of caffeine" monologue that starts up right around the time I close my eyes to sleep at night.
I have doubts that I can do this alone. I have doubts that I will be the kind of parent that I've always envisioned. That I'll let stress get to me. Or my house will be a hot mess. Or I won't have the answers to their questions. I won't know how to guide them, to show them how to love Jesus and love others.
I have doubts. I have fears.
But they're normal, right? This is a big deal. I'm becoming a parent. To broken kids. From broken families.
And somehow, through the strength that I can only assume that God will give me, I'll parent and I'll do everything I can to help bring restoration for those kids and their families.
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