Parenting is a mysterious, continual pendulum of irony, unabashed joy, and utter devastation. A hedge maze of epic proportions, a funhouse with boundless mirrors that reflect doubt, guilt, and worry.
Parenting is feeling everything and nothing, all at once. Parenting is endless questions of worth never voiced, tears hidden to conceal taboo inner turmoil, and momentary bitterness laced with vats of self-reproach.
Parenting is beautifully ugly, raw blooms of euphoric dissonance that electrocute every chord on every heartstring. A twisted medley that breathes life as it takes it, breaks as it heals, steals as it fulfills.
Parenting is the cause and the solution, the single question with many answers. Parenting is the why when you need the how, and the where when you need the when.
Parenting is the long race ran with unlaced shoes, the calculated leap made with no place to land. Parenting is exuberant celebration despite quiet mourning. Parenting is smiles take less muscles than frowns, but frowns take less muscles than heartache.
Parenting is pure elation from nearly nothing, unbeatable highs riding on the coattails of rock bottom. Parenting is beautifully crooked clay on a wheel, growing and changing, shaping and creating-becoming.
Parenting is a profetic sonnet penned in a language yet to be learned, a piece of detailed art observed from behind a veil, a haunting song never fully played but already cherished.
Parenting is tired eyes and strong souls, weak bodies and powerful words. Parenting is something felt by many, but never meant to be completely understood.
Parenting just is.