Today, a friend of mine voiced her displeasure on Facebook about her less than perfect Christmas tree. While I read her comment, I chuckled to myself. I could relate; I know all too well about being a perfectionist, especially when it comes to the Christmas tree.
I began to think about all the areas of my life that I try to make perfect -- that I naively believe I have control over -- my house, my job, my family... The list goes on and on.
And in the middle of my listing, I was interrupted by a memory from many years ago -- an ordinary, everyday moment, but one that still manages to impact me today.
I am transported back to my great-grandmother's house; Wheel of Fortune drones on in the background. My quick visit had somehow turned into a conversation about pie baking -- something I had done for the first time a few days prior.
I told my great-grandma about how, although my pies tasted wonderful, I just could not manage to make a perfect crust. My great-grandma smirked at me and said, "If it's perfect, people won't believe you really made it. They will think you bought it from the store."
"Besides," she said, "the way the pie looks isn't what matters, it's about the time and memories that were put into making it."
Her words were simple and true.
My great-grandma has been gone for many years now, but every time I start wishing for perfection, I recall her words. They didn't seem meaningful in that moment, but they hold so much weight for me now.
I would be a liar if I claimed that were was never a time when I tried to wish away the hypotonia and the struggles and the sadness that accompany it. And as much as I hate to admit it, there were times before I became a mother, when I hoped and dreamed for the "perfect" child.
And then there are nights like tonight -- when I reflect, and in doing so, realize that without the hypotonia, I would not have all of the amazing memories I do.
In the end, it really is all about the memories: Like the time my four year old dumped an entire pack of sprinkles on one Easter cookie. Or the the Christmas card pictures that did not turn out but resulted in all sorts of beautiful belly laughs. And the hypotonia.
The memories are what we recall with happiness and love years and years later -- no matter how simple or imperfect. No one ever sits back and recalls the pie crust.