motherhood: morning dance party

The other day I was making bacon (turkey bacon because it’s less greasy and I’m trying to regain my girlish figure. My BFF and I swear we’re going to have Obama arms by summer) and I almost set the plastic bag it was in on fire. It made me take a step back and think for a second.

How the hell am I in charge here?! Me. The one who chases her husband around the house with a toy broom trying to swat him in the butt. The one who sings Taylor Swift songs too loudly (even though I’m mad at her for her Amy and Tina criticism) and dances (poorly) to the theme songs of any Disney show until my six year old scolds me.

How on earth am I in charge of two little humans?

motherhood: morning dance partyNothing to see here. Just your standard morning dance party.

I’m supposed to teach them everything there is to know about life (well, along with my husband… who prefers not to wear shoes with laces): how to be good and responsible and caring. I’m supposed to teach them this stuff and I could have just burned my house down.

Sometimes the weight of it all washes over me and, for a second, I feel like I can’t breathe. But then a little tiny face nuzzles into my neck and reminds me to focus on the little things instead of the big picture. The things that actually matter instead of big, scary, paralyzing fears.

My biggest fear when I was about to give birth to Samantha was being in charge of another life. Like, really in charge. The kind of in charge where no one looks at you and says “Can I speak with your supervisor?” No. You are the supervisor. This tiny, helpless little life is yours to nurture, even if you feel totally clueless.

As the girls have gotten a little older and have minds of their own (to say the least), motherhood has gotten slightly less frightening. They’re not completely helpless anymore. I know what they want and have a much better idea of what they need. But there still are moments like this where I can’t for the life of me understand how my being in charge makes any sense.

And you know what? I think that’s OK. In fact, it’s more than OK. Raising another human being should scare you. And it’s the people who aren’t afraid who should be suspect. It’s the people who aren’t intimidated at all by the thought of another human being relying on them and trusting in them completely that are a little off.

Those are the people who should worry. I’m just fine. And I think I’ll continue my dance party now, thank you very much.

Written by Jennifer Garry
Jen is a freelance writer and girl mom from New York. When she's not knee-deep in glittery crafts and girl talk, you can probably find her sprawled across her couch in the middle of a Netflix marathon with dark chocolate smeared on her face. The struggle is real.