I don't like to mess up. My husband will agree to the fact that an obsession for being right runs in my blood. And being right means doing it right.
Zeke, my strong, capable, smart, figure-it-out-myself almost-two year old, is the reason I mess up. Or at least as of late he has given me plenty of reasons to believe that I am messing up. Just in the last few days, he has pushed down babies, been way too loud, thrown a fit over not getting seconds on ice cream, done exactly what I tell him not to do immediately after I tell him, thrown a fit over needing to hold hands in the parking lot, and hit his brother (many times). I could probably go on, but it's not necessary, or pleasant.
I wonder why. Why does it seem like my parenting with my second boy is not as effective as with my first? Why do I have trouble reaching through to him? Why are there these behaviors that just seem to perpetuate, no matter what I do or say?
And in my heart, I know my biggest mess up.
When I was a new mom, I was utterly dependent on God for guidance and wisdom. I didn't know what I was doing, and I knew I would mess it up, so I leaned on God, praying that he would work through me, that he would enable me to be a good parent for his son, Noah.
It's hard to admit, but I've gotten a little cocky the second time around. It is still the desire of my heart that I would be a good parent for my boys, but I don't lean on God the way that I did, or know I should.
So, my little Zeke, forgive me. Just as you mess up in little ways every day, so do I. Tonight, I will begin anew my humble walk of being your mommy. And I'll stop trying to get it right on my own.