On February 20, little Margaret Colette entered our world. It's strange to write this first post since her birth, almost exactly four weeks ago. Our little daughter brought with her many emotions, most of them joyful. The love I feel for her is a love of paradoxes. I feel like it's all-consuming and yet distinct. I feel that it's powerful and yet quiet. There really was no explosion of the heart when she was first born (for me, although for her father there was), perhaps because I'd been pushing for almost three hours and was exhausted, and then when she was handed to me, I started to tremble uncontrollably with cold. I didn't feel the intense, overwhelming love that you hear about, not quite immediately. But I felt joy, for sure, and awe. And since then, she has created such a place in my heart that sometimes I feel that she is my heart: she embodies and personifies my heart.
I love nothing less than I did before her birth. I love Elijah the kitty as much as I did before, and I love Benjamin Bunny as much as I did before. I love my friends, and I probably love some people even more than before, if that's possible, such as my husband and family, especially my parents. No, in matters of the heart, nothing is diminished. Everything has grown or stayed peacefully full. (Granted, I have less time to express my love, especially for my wee animals.)
In some ways, it still seems surreal that I am now a mother and that I have a daughter. A daughter! A little baby girl to call our own! I look at her and savor this time, when she is so tiny and dependent in her infancy, but I also find myself excited for when her smiles become more intentional, when her personality develops and blossoms, for learning who she is and seeing what she will become. But then, I remind myself to come back to now, today. She will never be this small again, able to wrap her entire hand around the top of my thumb, her little arms as long as her head, her feet able to fit into one of my palms. Everything about her is real and ordinary and yet extraordinary and wonderful. She's beautiful and healthy, and I am her mother.
I love nothing less than I did before her birth. I love Elijah the kitty as much as I did before, and I love Benjamin Bunny as much as I did before. I love my friends, and I probably love some people even more than before, if that's possible, such as my husband and family, especially my parents. No, in matters of the heart, nothing is diminished. Everything has grown or stayed peacefully full. (Granted, I have less time to express my love, especially for my wee animals.)
In some ways, it still seems surreal that I am now a mother and that I have a daughter. A daughter! A little baby girl to call our own! I look at her and savor this time, when she is so tiny and dependent in her infancy, but I also find myself excited for when her smiles become more intentional, when her personality develops and blossoms, for learning who she is and seeing what she will become. But then, I remind myself to come back to now, today. She will never be this small again, able to wrap her entire hand around the top of my thumb, her little arms as long as her head, her feet able to fit into one of my palms. Everything about her is real and ordinary and yet extraordinary and wonderful. She's beautiful and healthy, and I am her mother.
No comments:
Post a Comment