I didn’t really want to write a post today. I’m coming off of two weeks of being sick. Just when I was getting better, I caught a second cold. I spent days fatigued and in bed with a pile of tissues as the only evidence of me living here.

I spent days laying on the couch half-asleep as my children played nicely. I was stewing in my mom guilt earlier this evening when my sweet almost two year old asked me for her brush. With her little baby hands, she slowly started brushing my hair with the gentle precision and chaos as only a toddler can. She fluffed my hair, ran her fingers down the length of it, and brushed my hair, reminding me of when I was little and my mom and Savta would brush my hair. It was the most gentle hair-brushing I had experienced in a long time.

That moment shifted something inside me. Other people might say that this moment is when they knew that everything was worth it. But that doesn’t quite capture how I felt at this moment. It was an act that registered for me as caring and sweet, but to her was a nice activity with Mommy.

This moment wasn’t about childrearing being “worth it” or even a heartmelting moment. For me, it was a reminder.

A reminder that somewhere along the way I forgot. In between the chag chaos, the resumption of gan bringing a new crop of germs and sickness into my home. In the days of half-eaten snacks, crumbs, and toys being littered across the floor. Through meltdowns, teething, and sleepless nights.
I was reminded who all this is for.

That even when the toddler gremlins come out to play. Even with the ugliest moments in life, in parenthood, in caring for children, underneath it all is my child. A child who was placed in my care, entrusted to me. Not only to take care of. To love. To cherish. To raise. And most importantly, to educate.

It was this moment that brought me back. That pulled me out of the self-criticism. The mom guilt. That no matter how hard I try, there is always the voice telling me it isn’t enough. And I looked at my sweet little girl and I saw how even on the worst days, even with all the mucinex in the world, the coughing and sneezing, the fatigue. My girl still feels loved and loves deeply. She is still the girl that will happily twirl and clap along to Mr. Golden Sun.

I don’t always have these moments, but I will remember this one and how when I looked at her, I saw someone who did a pretty good job today.