I'm excited to be a part of creating the Mother's Day service at our church. Sitting with these ladies discussing and sharing our motherhood humbles me again to my new life. I've wanted this for so long and to gaze at my little one or play or sing with him, I'm just so grateful.
We've been asked to each write a 3 - 4 minute essay on motherhood. Here is my first try:
Mothering is like holding a live wet fish. Just when you think you have it, it slips right out of your hands. I could extend this metaphor to make it a shape shifting fish that becomes a clown, a tiger, or a delicate vase. I never know from one moment to the next if I have the sweet "good" baby, the one that's quiet and smiles on cue, or the ferocious tiger that hits my boob as he's nursing, as if to control the flow somehow - one smack for faster, two for slow down. Sometimes he sleeps easily, sometimes he'll only sleep in my arms and the slightest movement (like me shifting to hold it in just one more minute) is enough for him to wake in an inconsolable rage.
He's only 4 months old and my world has quickly shifted down to a 16lb, 6 oz, 26" long piece of real estate that captivates, enchants, and torments me more than anything I could have ever prepared for. Before him, I thought I knew what love was. Now, loving my son makes me feel like I'm cut open, my insides available for all to see. I am so vulnerable, frightened and exhilarated. It's wilder than any mountain I've thrown myself off of, any trek I've undertaken, any bone I've broken or set. And it's 24/7/365 for the rest of my life. I'm so tired, I'm delirious. I'm so delirious, I love it.