All In

All in. It’s not a new concept for anyone but it doesn’t get any less scary the older we get. In my 20s ‘all in’ could have easily referred to a bottle of tequila as much as a lifetime commitment to a new tattoo or spur of the moment overseas holiday.

In my late 30s, the concept is still the same but the stakes seem to be a little higher. I have a baby. She’s cute. She doesn’t sleep. She loves mashed banana and irrevocably changed my life and my perspective in the first three seconds I met her.  It’s taken me a little longer to be brave enough to put that perspective into action, but I’m finally here.

I’ve had to rediscover the idea of ‘all in’ much more closely these days and I’m more shit scared than ever. I’m ‘all in’ everyday. And I choose to be. The humans of my village have that choice too but their answer always surprises me.

Having a baby wasn’t a surprise for them. They knew about it. Helped me swipe right on everything from potential tinder donors to actual pay-by-the-vial sperm donors. They attended ‘I’m having a baby one day’ afternoon teas, held my hand during failures, a miscarriage, a pregnancy and now, finally, a baby.

My village has stepped up, signed on the metaphorical dotted line and loved this kid like no one else’s business.  I am lucky. I am beyond lucky and Abbie is loved by a whole village of people but I am constantly surprised by their ongoing ‘yes’ to be part of our village.

They say yes with their actions everyday.  Yes to cups of tea, trips to the coffee shop, a lap around the shopping centre, dinner out with a pram, couch sitting and even a trip to Coles becomes a major social event in this village.

There will come a point in our life that things won’t be so rosy.  That people will leave our village and new ones will enter.  While there is always room in the village for more, I’m always sad when people exit.  Rejection isn’t something I’ve ever taken well.  I’m a ‘flog that horse till its dead and then for a bit longer just in case it gets resurrected’ kinda woman but I’ve recently discovered that’s not the kind of mum I want to be.

There are things about ourselves that we are petrified of passing on to our kids.  For me it was my chunky thighs, my lack of self control with food and my lack of self love and respect.  At six months it seems I’ve failed miserably at the first two.  The girl has thighs for days and loves everything she puts in her mouth.

But the last one, I can do something about.  I can make a choice to surround us with people that love us.  I can surround us with people who choose to make us part of their own village.  I can surround us with people that reaffirm our worth and share our lives in all its messiness.

Ideally our sense of worth as people comes from within.  We hope that we can gift it to ourselves but it’s not always that easy.  It takes work.  It takes dedication and it’s something you can’t ever give up on.  But it’s not something I want for my kid.  I want her to be resilient.  I want her to bounce back from rejection.  I want her to be able to recognise what she brings to the world and know that what she has is worth loving, worth being seen and enough for the people she chooses to love.

I can’t control what her thighs are going to look like but I can teach her to squat, use a kettle bell and look after her body.  I can’t stop her from eating everything that’s put in front of her, but I can teach her to eat bits of everything and not the entire cake.  I can’t make her love herself, but I can surround her with people who do, with people that believe she matters and people that can show her what it looks like to be enough.

The village does that.  I’ve surrounded her with strong women, kind men and resilient humans.  The village loves us both and teaches us daily.  But the most important thing I have to do is to show her is that it’s important not to accept less.

It’s my turn to be brave. It’s time to be ‘all in.’  It’s time to not accept less and know that I am enough.