Baking a Cake

Raising a baby is all about transition.

From womb to world. From breast to bottle. From terrified new parent to calm, cool, sort of collected semi-experienced parent.

As I sit here letting Jack "cry it out", I think about how far I've come and how far I have yet to go.

Last weekend I watched a very proud mother and father give away their daughter on her wedding day. Watching them watch her was my favorite part of the day. I had a new perspective on this right of passage for her. And for them.

I was instantly homesick for Jack. I wanted to be with him. That's the thing about parenthood. You change, but the world around you stays the same. You seek out understanding in mothers new and old, in anyone. Understanding that you want to lead a balanced life, but you also just want to be with your baby. You want to be with your friends, but half of you is constantly questioning if he needs you, if he wants you. There's a transitional period that rocks you, challenges you, makes you a better version of you.

I'm in transition. I'm trying to find the right measurements to bake the perfectly moist cake. The one that makes you say, wow, the artist behind this knows what he or she is doing. The artist behind this is wise beyond her years. I'm constantly pouring and throwing old batters away. And I'm not sure I'm ever going to get it right, but I know one thing to be true.

Every day, I get up and I tell myself, I'm going to do the very best I can do and I'm going to make this day count with Jack, at work, with Kyle.

I'm gonna make it count.