She cried without stopping. I was a nerve-wracked, shaking failure. Sleep-deprived, I grew up over burp rags and dirty diapers.

How had I gotten there? I was holding her at arms length. I didn’t want to engage with her anymore. It felt too hard.

How often do we feel as if we’ve failed 10,000 times? Lunch left on the counter, again. “Masterpieces” dug out of the trash by the crestfallen artist. Angry words better left unsaid.

Far too many times I have shut them out of this beautiful work. But I want so badly for them to see it, this vision. To feel the excitement, and sense the eternal reward.

Never would I have imagined as I held my first baby such fearful responsibility would become my sustenance. Nor was I prepared when such love vied for first love.

I could not have known where that little piece of paper would end up. But then his email landed in my inbox.