Sometimes I get ahead of/down on/hard on myself.  I get stressed, I start feeling guilty about slacking here or not doing this or that.  I get sad that my babies are growing at a rapid rate.  I get nervous/excited/anxious/hopeful about our future.  I get overwhelmed with work/home/parenting/responsibilities.  I feel blessed and happy and content.  Then I get nervous about feeling so happy/blessed/content.  I try and try to do better.  I set goals.  I pray.  I listen.  I get disappointed in myself.  I feel proud of myself.  I surprise myself.  I get inspired, and moved, and molded into the woman I’m becoming.  I get anxious/depressed/weepy.  I miss my tiny babies.  I miss carrying them in my womb.  I feel grateful for being able to carry them.  To mother them.  To love them.  I feel blessed for my husband and my children.  I feel loved.  I feel really, really loved.  And I love.  I really, really love.

And in the middle of my day, in the middle of the whirlwind of thoughts in my head, I can take a deep breath and remember what it’s all about…

And it seems I know exactly the purpose of my existence.

My life is far from perfect, but my goodness, it’s perfect for me.