I gave birth to my first, the same age my mother gave birth to me. For 29 years it was my mom and I. I celebrated her being my mother, i her daughter. This year i took on the precious role of mother myself. Of putting my child first. Of loving and caring more deeply than i ever thought possible. Of beginning to understand the deep love a mother feels for her child.
We would wake up early, eager to make her breakfast. I would stand on a chair in the kitchen, along side my dad, preparing the most special meal, to be served on a tray in bed. I would fill every square inch of that tray with goodness. Eggs, toast, fruit, juice, tea and a small vase of flowers, just in bloom. Dad would keep saying that we had to be quiet, so she could sleep in. Secretly knowing she was lying in bed, reading, listening to the beautiful noise, the chaos of her three children, her family.
Her heart.
We'd set up a blanket outside for a picnic lunch. Just me & mom along side many of my doll children. She'd be Hazel and i'd be Helen. Both my great grandmothers, one i knew, one i never met. We'd sip tea and talk in old lady accents. We'd giggle. We'd feed the doll children. In the distance the boys would race their bikes up and down the driveway, yelling, being loud, messy, perfect boys. Dad would be filling up the air on the bike tires, helping to build a bike ramp. Perhaps taking a moment to babysit my doll babies.
We'd walk hand in hand, up the road to feed Susie's smallish horse. Carrots and apples rattled in the red wagon alongside my doll babies up our dirt road. She'd say that we'd better bring a jar because the milkweed is up and we may catch a wooly bear. We'd tromp through the tall grass in field at the corner until we found one. Carefully gathering some of it's habitat, placing the fuzzy caterpillar in the jar, securing it with a piece of mesh and a rubber band. As we headed home, we'd make up a story of the caterpillar. We'd talk about it becoming a butterfly and spreading it's wings to show the world all of the beauty within it.
I'd ask how long until it became a beautiful butterfly.
She'd say, when it was ready, there was no rushing it.
Last night my sweet six month old woke more times than usual. His first teeth are about to break through. He needed to snuggle, to feel my warmth, his daddy's warmth against him. I brought him into our bed, nestling close to daddy. In the darkness i pumped him a bottle as daddy soothed him to sleep. Just a few weeks ago he decided he no longer wanted to nurse at night. It broke my heart, but also opened my eyes to yet another milestone.
As he grows i see more and more of my mother coming out of me, while also becoming my very own mother. I feel what he feels, love what he loves.
I began this blog years ago when we started building our home. I was nervous to put my heart out there for the public. It remained private for a few years. Last year i put the link on my Instagram account and let people find it at their leisure.
My mama kept telling me that my writing, my words are beautiful, and others would enjoy it as well. It's a big step, a scary step to put this into the world of so many opinions and views. But this morning, as i ate breakfast with my family, i knew i was ready.
So, on my first mother's day, I'm going to share my thoughts, my photographs, my heart.
I had to do it when i was ready, there is no rushing the beauty of this life.
Happy mothers day, mama.
