Your dad and I stood in front of you for a long time today trying to get you to smile for this picture.
You've been cheerful and making us laugh today. You've been smiling a lot, and talking with us. We went to church in the city and when we got home, I sat you up in the pink chair with some blankets. Sitting tall like a big girl. Maybe I'm projecting, but you seemed proud.
That was this afternoon, but this morning, we woke up sleepy and frustrated. You were crying, we were up all night, there was not enough hot water in our small apartment for both your dad and I to take a shower, and nothing seemed to be where it was supposed to be.
It made me think about the day you were born. I had been pregnant for a long time, a lonnng time. Okay, so no longer than most women, but if you ask any mom who has been carrying around all the extra's that pregnancy brings for nine months (we'll talk about these when your older), it feels like an eternity at the end. Your Nana, Grandmama, and Grandaddy had all flown to California just to meet you. Everyone was so excited. It was a big day. A life changing day.
Once we were at the hospital, they gave me a gown and they gave your dad these blue hospital scrubs to wear. Everyone wanted to take pictures and talk a lot. Even your Uncle Gian came by for a minute and brought flowers and a balloon for you. It was like a party.
And all I wanted to do, was cry. I was tired. I was so tired that when the nurse told me I had to walk to the surgical room and then after you were born I would go to another room and then another room I felt like I couldn't do it. It sounds silly. I know that. I knew that then. But I was so overwhelmed and had been expecting and emotional for so long, that when it was finally time to meet you, I felt like I couldn't make the last few steps. All of the weight and work I had been holding onto to get me there to that day, caught up with me and my body felt like it was too heavy to move.
I felt like I was going to be a bad mother, because I didn't want my picture taken. And because when the nurse told me I would get to hold you, I thought I would be too exhausted.
But then.
But then, your dad and I were in the next room, waiting for you, he was stroking my hair, and holding my hand, and there was this buzzing in the air. I could feel the room getting smaller and smaller until it was just you, and I, and him.
And then we heard you cry. (and cry, and cry...)
And he laughed.
And the whole room (our world) exploded out into a large and new life. Full of color, and light, and energy. There was no thing, no wall, no circumstance, no tired mom body, that could contain the bigness you brought with you.
Sometimes, it will seem like that. It will feel like you have carried the weight well. That through all of the heavy and hard times, you carried on like a champion, like a warrior. And then, at the end, it will be the small things that wear you out. The last few steps, and just a few more minutes will seem too long.
Even the people who are there, cheering you on, will make you tired.
But you are always strong enough.
You are always brave enough.
You are always enough.
And eventually, you'll finish that thing. And you will be on the other side of it, filled with joy at the gift it brought you. Swelling with pride at even the smallest accomplishments that follow as a result.
You will probably also live in an apartment that doesn't have enough hot water one day. One day, your daughter will be crying like a banshee, and your husband will stomp around the house while you feel unjustifiably sorry for yourself about how little sleep you got.
Just remember. These things are not true. You are just stuck under the shadow that accumulates because of all the unimportant life stuff that gathers itself up like clouds.
When that happens, get out of the house. It's too small. The sun will give some light and make the shadows scatter. If that isn't enough. Take a drive, the road will remind you of all the roads you haven't been on, and the cities you haven't lived in yet. Listen to music.
But be careful, some music will bring you down. Always own your music. Make sure it belongs to you, and not to your past or your doubts about who you are (you will have those sometimes. and that's okay.)
Do not be afraid of new places or people, they bring new perspective.
When you do leave the house, take a drive, listen to music, and meet new people in new places; do not smoke cigarettes. Do not drink too much wine or give too much of yourself away to things that cannot love you back home. You will learn what those look like. When you feel tired, they will glow warm like a place to rest, or they will spark exciting like a place to bring you life again. But they can fool you, trap you, and take years away from your life.
I will help you. I will help you know where true comfort and new life can be found. I'll start while you are young, while you still want to hear what I have to say.
I will spend the rest of my life standing in front of (behind and beside) you trying to make you smile. I will probably try to take pictures long after it embarrasses you.
Because I am never too tired.
-I am your mom.
wake up, to the grace
in this life that you found.
stand up, to the little things
holding you down.
look around my love,
look below and above.
don't talk, let the fires burn
out on their own. just watch
as the fireflies guide us home.
my home, my love.
from below and above.
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