Only so much

Some days,

I feel like the worst mother in the world.

My daughter hits to see what happens,

laughs when she’s told no,

and people think

I let her run wild

like I’ve never said the words

“Keep your hands to yourself.”

I want to tell them—

she is two.

Two,

with feelings bigger than her body,

and no map yet

for what to do with them.

I want to tell them—

I correct her,

I talk to her,

I kneel to her level

and repeat the lesson again and again,

even when it feels like

she’s forgotten everything by morning.

They don’t see

the way she hugs me tight,

or the joy in her voice

when she says “Mama, watch me!”

They don’t see

how much I love her,

how much I worry,

how much I try.

I am not perfect.

But I am soft,

and strong,

and showing up

even on the days I feel like I’m failing.

I can only do so much,

and still,

I do it all with love.