Happy first birthday, little M.

As I hold you in the darkness, I think of my doula’s words.

“Labor prepares you for motherhood.”

You won’t sleep. Neither soothing nor crying is working. I’m barely powering through. I thought at twelve months you’d be sleeping soundly. We’ve worked on it, and yet, here we are, dancing this tiresome dance again, every few nights for months now.

Those words from all those years ago finally make sense. At the time I thought nothing could compare to the challenge of your sister’s birth, but motherhood is a marathon with hills and valleys. Sometimes the hills are harder than we remember. Sometimes the challenges are cumulative in their weight.

Somehow one year has passed. I spent hours yesterday pouring through the photos. So much has changed in twelve months. You’ve grown, we’ve moved, we’ve started different jobs. And, everything is changing still.

I told a friend the other day I have trouble when I don’t know the answers for the future. I like to look down the road of life and to see what’s coming. Which is silly, really, because some of the best changes have been unseen.

A year ago, at 3PM, I pulled your wiggling body onto my chest and cried the tears of relief and happiness only birth can bring. You brought such unexpected magic. You’ve given me hope for a better future even in some of the world’s darkest days.

Motherhood, much like labor, has its rewards to counterbalance those seemingly insurmountable challenges, and when I remember to stop and appreciate the rhythm of your warm breath against my skin, I’m reminded of life’s glorious power to be all things at once.

Thank you, little M, for choosing me.