Coming back ’round again.

mommyeverafter — Tue, 24 May 2011 01:31:38 +0000

Here I am.
I’m back from a wri-atus of sorts.
You see, it was nearly a month ago now that I made the decision to close the door to this chapter.
Not because I didn’t love writing my “ever after”.
I did.
I loved chronicling my days with my little one;
I loved the intimate relationship I was able to develop with people, new and old; near and far;
I loved reminding myself to remember;
I loved writing, again.
But, part of me got scared. I worried about living some parts of my life so publicly. I worried about my family’s exposure. And so, I resigned myself to the fact that this good ol’ baby book of mine would be tied up with a neat little bow,
as I’d craft the perfect farewell post,
thanking everyone for the incredible support,
and wrapping up a year in the life of the Land of Mom.
Except, I could not bring myself to write this goodbye.
I wasn’t ready to let go.
And, to be honest, I missed you. I missed this.
I missed writing about the funny thing my girl did that morning.
I missed sobbing as I typed a memory that brought me to my knees.
I missed putting my feelings into words, and reading those words
and rereading those words,
and reliving all that was so holy to me.
And so, here I am.
~
Last week, a dear, beautiful mommy friend of mine and I took walk.
She is someone very special to me, and due to a series of circumstances beyond either of our control, we had not been able to really catch up, one on one, for some time.
As we strolled, pushing our babies over bulky pads of grass and by the park and along the rows of pink and white azaleas,
she asked me about my writing. I told her that I had taken a break. I told her about my fears. I told her that I was thinking of ending my (online) story.
She listened to me. She validated my fears. She was thoughtful, as she always is.
And then, she told me to keep writing.
She told me to, at the very least, keep on chronicling my daughter’s life, if only for us to read in later months and years.
She told me that I would be grateful.
She was right.
~
So, this go around, a whole long year after I first wrote about getting poop on my face,
I am approaching this story with new eyes,
just the way I am approaching motherhood differently now.
I am no longer a new mom.
I am no longer unsure of myself, and flustered and sleep deprived.
I am no longer afraid to be honest.
About being frightened.
I am no longer a slave to round-the-clock nursings
(although, wouldn’t you know it, I’m still breastfeeding my daughter. She’s now 13 months old. Imagine that.)
or calling the dr on call on a weekly basis.
I trust myself,
I trust the people around me
and, most of all, I trust my daughter.
Now, when I ask her if she is still hungry,
if she wants another bite of peas,
she will tell me “more” or “no”.
When I ask her if she wants to stand up and dance, she will.
Or she won’t.
She’s now a person,
and I now know how to breathe again.
And so, maybe my lack of writing has also been indicative of the evolution I’ve been experiencing.
I certainly still get scared and anxious and sleepy and unsure,
but I also have faith in myself, and trust my abilities and really, truly, completely love every single minute of this thing called mommyhood.
My baby now puts two words together,
and kisses my lips,
and hugs Lola,
and says “hello, daddy!” as she rests the telephone on her shoulder and holds her ear up to the receiver,
and shakes her head, exclaiming, “no no, Ziggy”
and tells me when she wants to hear “Supercalifragilisticexpealidocious” one more time,
using her words,
and when I tell her she looks pretty, she brushes her hair and squeals in delight,
and puts on lipstick,
and she loves to smell the flowers and say “mmmm” when she likes their fragrance,
and she plays one note on her little piano and claps for herself,
and she says “fishies” when she wants to look at the pond and “tree” when she looks out the window,
and so many other words that I melt when I hear,
and eats everything
and blows me away with all she knows,
and all she can do,
and all she can be
every single day.
So, we’ve both grown up a bit.
Grown up a lot.
And, thank goodness,
grown some gosh darn hair.
So, from here on out, my diary shall remain open.
I will no longer stifle my desires to jot down a memory,
or record a precious anecdote,
and please,
feel free to laugh
and weep
and roll your eyes right along with us.
That’s what ’tis all about here in the ever after.
Because now things may not look the same,
but they’re really really good.
Or as some may say, better than
ever.

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Coming back ’round again.