I’ve honestly had a hard time writing anything lengthy about Babe’s first lap around the sun, and my first lap of motherhood. My mind has become a jumble-fuck of memories and feelings that are being reluctantly revisited. I have, in this lack of language to circumnavigate this full circle, found myself lyricless-ly humming, “five-hundred, twenty-five-thousand, six-hundred minutes,” which is very on brand considering that’s the minute total of one year.
Yesterday was a day full of emotions for me. It ended up being extremely uncomfortable. I was avoiding thinking about birthing. I was avoiding thinking about her dad and I’s downfall. I was avoiding the quickness that actualized and actualizes every year. Seeing a child grow so swiftly and effortlessly in one year has allowed me to gain new perspective and understanding of the amount of change that can happen in one year, even if you have no idea what you’re doing. Innocently and knowledgeless-ly squirming, then rolling over, suckling, holding a head up, noticing fingers and toes, gaining core strength, developing a need for knee caps, finding the hole in the face for sound and sustenance, learning mommy and daddy’s face and scent, discovering favorite foods, organizing your skeleton to be upright like the other, bigger humans around you. It’s all so cliché. It’s all so fast. As soon as you begin to truly love and appreciate one thing, the next is already creeping in and taking over as a new experience. No control. No slowing down. And no worries about the future. Unless you’re mommy. You’re always worried about the future of your little human. If you’ll ever get the time back, the sleep back, the breath back, the body back. Will my mind ever be the same? Will my memory ever be the same? Would I even be satisfied it is was?
There is no greater love than that of a mother to their child. Something never to be understood by a man or a child (in my opinion). No greater sacrifice. I didn’t know how good of a mother I would be. I didn’t even know if I was fertile or not. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity of allowing my body to shift into a bearer of a child, though there is so much that comes with it in this world. I was so interested in witnessing my body as a vessel, as a shapeshifting womb. And I understood my privilege of being able to carry a child of my own. I made the right choice… Right? I chose love. I chose sacrifice. I chose selflessness. I chose sleepless nights. I chose lopsided boobs. I chose little hands in my shirt. I chose little fingers wrapped around mine. I chose soft skinned snuggles. I chose sweet giggles. I chose heavy, flatulent diapers. I chose messy floors. I chose bringing a +1 to poops, pees and showers. I chose ever-looping nursery rhymes. I chose nostalgia. I chose biodegradable baby wipes. I chose tiny laundry. I chose doulas. I chose hospitals. I chose leather seats. I chose to eat meat. I chose sleepy tunes. I chose survival. I chose you.
And, baby girl, I’m so glad you chose me. I love you.
Thank god for closure on one year. Cheers to another.
THANK YOU. THANK YOU. THANK YOU.
Mommy xx