Good Enough: Words of Advice from my OB


I’d done my best. I’d done good enough.

So this was what she’d meant. This was the first time her words clicked. I let them sink in.

Gradually, my anxiety started to slip away and her words became my mantra.
The times my son wouldn’t nap and eventually just fell asleep in his stroller during a walk and we left him there to sleep? At least he was sleeping peacefully. Good enough.

The time during a growth spurt when it seemed like the only way my son could be consoled was by holding him for hours on end? At least he was calm and content. Good enough.

The days where I would change out of one nightgown, take a shower, and put on a different nightgown? At least I remembered to put on deodorant that morning. I think. Good enough.

The days we had coffee for breakfast and takeout for lunch and dinner? At least we ate. Good enough.

The times we kept washing and rewashing dishes in the dishwasher because we couldn’t be bothered to unload it? At least the dishes were clean. Good enough.

The times I passed on visits from friends because I would rather try to keep the baby on some kind of feeding and napping schedule? At least they understood and we made plans to hang out again soon. Good enough.

The times that we ignored whatever family was visiting us so that we could do our bedtime routines as usual? At least we knew the baby would sleep well that night. Good enough.

I’m sure I’m not the only mom who’s been so hard on herself. There have been nights where I’ve dreaded bedtime because I didn’t know if my son would continue to sleep through the night as he’d been doing, or if he’d wake us up at two a.m. and five a.m. for feedings. There have been times where I’ve questioned if going somewhere or having guests over would disrupt our routines and throw everything off kilter. I have questioned everything, every step of the way. I have questioned my ability to be a good mom. I have definitely questioned whether or not I know what the heck I am doing.

But then I look at our happy, smiling baby – our chubby, growing boy – and I realize that I’m doing just fine. We’re doing just fine.

And that’s good enough.


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