I write this while my daughter sleeps in the other room.
My daughter.
She came nine days late, taking her sweet time while I downed sweets for every moment she wasn't here. I remember the conflicting duality of being more than freaking ready as well as not ready at all. I remember crying in the shower seeing the baby wash sitting there; feeling overwhelmed at the idea of bathing a newborn. I remember the realization that I'm not just a full-time babysitter: I am and will be the mother of a human being. I am forever part of her earliest experience. I am the first thing she saw in this world, my voice will always be one of the first sounds she's heard, apart from the whishing of my body. My smell is already woven into her senses as one of comfort and sustenance. What a horrifying honor to be someone's mother, to have the influence upon someone as immense as I'll have, to know so many of her characteristics will mirror my own. It is a sort of tragic triumph, to have this deep connection with her, knowing that the years will bring sinfulness and separation; that she will bring out some of my deepest sins, that sanctification is the only way to continue to flourish.
My body is imprinted by pregnancy; I feel it will never quite be the same, in neither a good nor bad way. Similarly, my soul is forever changed by this new life borne from my own. I came home from the hospital in many ways a new person. Not a different person; rather...enhanced? As if I've assumed this role that has laid dormant in my heart all these years; as if it has been a part of my identity all this time.
She has ruined me, this daughter of mine. Shattered every assumption and expectation, squeezed my heart to desperation, and seems to laugh at all the answers I thought I had. Any illusions of control have flown out the window, and I regret to say I've already found myself angry at her.
But I've also found my heart exploding in delight. Her first smile, laugh, the way she grins while she nurses. And I have a feeling that motherhood will be a constant flinging of my heart between explosions of delight and desperation. And knowing that's what lies ahead for this journey of motherhood both thrills and terrifies the deepest parts of me.
**new layout with a picture I didn't take, but I like food so I feel it represents me well.
My daughter.
She came nine days late, taking her sweet time while I downed sweets for every moment she wasn't here. I remember the conflicting duality of being more than freaking ready as well as not ready at all. I remember crying in the shower seeing the baby wash sitting there; feeling overwhelmed at the idea of bathing a newborn. I remember the realization that I'm not just a full-time babysitter: I am and will be the mother of a human being. I am forever part of her earliest experience. I am the first thing she saw in this world, my voice will always be one of the first sounds she's heard, apart from the whishing of my body. My smell is already woven into her senses as one of comfort and sustenance. What a horrifying honor to be someone's mother, to have the influence upon someone as immense as I'll have, to know so many of her characteristics will mirror my own. It is a sort of tragic triumph, to have this deep connection with her, knowing that the years will bring sinfulness and separation; that she will bring out some of my deepest sins, that sanctification is the only way to continue to flourish.
My body is imprinted by pregnancy; I feel it will never quite be the same, in neither a good nor bad way. Similarly, my soul is forever changed by this new life borne from my own. I came home from the hospital in many ways a new person. Not a different person; rather...enhanced? As if I've assumed this role that has laid dormant in my heart all these years; as if it has been a part of my identity all this time.
She has ruined me, this daughter of mine. Shattered every assumption and expectation, squeezed my heart to desperation, and seems to laugh at all the answers I thought I had. Any illusions of control have flown out the window, and I regret to say I've already found myself angry at her.
But I've also found my heart exploding in delight. Her first smile, laugh, the way she grins while she nurses. And I have a feeling that motherhood will be a constant flinging of my heart between explosions of delight and desperation. And knowing that's what lies ahead for this journey of motherhood both thrills and terrifies the deepest parts of me.
**new layout with a picture I didn't take, but I like food so I feel it represents me well.
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