The Flip Side

Dear Ophelia, Parenthood is strange. I’m not talking about the delirium caused by sleep deprivation or the ever-varying color of your poop. No, what is strangest thing about parenthood is how I can feel on top of the world in the morning but by the time I put you to bed I feel like my spirit has been trampled by a thousand angry feet. Or the other way around. It is shocking to me that I can oscillate so steadily from elation to complete terror and back again without much even happening in the intervening hours. I'm either the best mother that ever walked the face of the planet because you having been giggling for hours straight or I'm the reproductive scum of the earth because I clipped your fingernail too short and now your baby finger is bleeding a teensy little bit. I am the Doctor Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde of motherhood.

Some days go like this: We wake up in the morning at almost exactly the same time and spend a good hour just making silly faces at each other and laughing together in bed. You look at me like I’m your personal savior, like the sun rises and sets in my eyes. It’s pretty much the biggest ego boost anyone could ask for. When your dad finally gets up to change your diaper (He made me a very generous diaper-changing offer while I was pregnant that I think he may regret now. He changes an inordinate amount of diapers for someone who works 50 hours a week outside the home) I just think to myself how lucky I am that I get to spend the whole day with my baby. My baby. Everything I do is suddenly fun. Grocery shopping doesn’t feel like a chore because I just babble to you the whole time and people come up and tell me how gorgeous you are, as if I haven’t noticed. I make mental lists of all the things I want to do with you when you’re old enough. Even if I’ve done it a thousand times when I get to do it with you, it will all feel new and exciting again. I see glimpses of what you might look like at 2, 5, 16…and I am just bursting with excitement to watch your life unfold and to be part of that unfolding. I can’t wait to introduce you to everything I love and watch you explore the world with unadulterated wonder. Those days are the best.

But other days look very different. Other days when you flash your perfect gummy smile at me, instead of feeling the usual ego boost, I think to myself, “This kid has way too much faith in me. I will inevitably screw this motherhood thing up. I will inevitably screw her up.” Sometimes when I have a half hour to myself I’ll take a bath and feel a sickening panic spread across my chest. It’s the realization that whatever happens to you for the rest of your life, for better or for worse, I am ultimately responsible for it. Suddenly the things my own mother went through, the tough choices she had to make and the guilt she expressed to me years later make a lot more sense. But most of all I feel fragmented. You came from my body and now for the rest of your life you will live outside of me, maybe even far away from me someday. It’s as if the tenderest parts of me have coalesced to form a separate person and now everything that you are vulnerable to, those parts of me are vulnerable to as well. It sounds weird, yes.  But it feels A LOT weirder.

I tell you all of this not to freak you out or make you think your presence has somehow damaged me. I tell you this because I want you to understand how fundamentally you have changed my life. I am split in two now. Even when you’re a grown woman I will still imagine you as my satellite, forever orbiting my consciousness. You can’t escape me and I can’t escape you. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Love always,

Mama

A Series of Fortunate Events

Dearest daughter, I cannot sleep because there is a raucous party going on two houses over. I'm pretty sure these people are older than your grandparents and they're partying HARD. Good for them. Bad for me.

I've been thinking a lot lately about my decision to become a mother so young. Yes, you were unplanned. Well, sort of. You came earlier than expected. Considering that I had you at 23 you might expect that you were early by several years, that your dad and I planned on having children "someday". You would be wrong. Originally your dad and I wanted to get married this year in the spring. Provided that I had a decent job by that time we thought we would try to have a baby and get pregnant sometime within the year. Turns out the two of us are a fertility match made in heaven (sorry, I know you're probably grossed out thinking about your parents in this way) and you were conceived sometime in May 2011.

But like I said, I always planned on being a young mother. I am fully aware that this sort of plan flies in the face of most current attitudes on the subject. My peers and I were always told that in order to be successful in life we must go to college, spend our 20s traveling, working on a career and getting our jollies out before finding a nice guy/gal to marry in our 30s, buying a house and settling down BEFORE having children. Any deviation in this plan (god forbid an unplanned pregnancy) would result in a sense of permanent discontent over our lost youth and shattered dreams. To be honest, this doesn't seem like a bad plan if appeals to you. There's plenty to be said for financial security and pursuing a career before having children. But I just knew this would never make me happy. I knew I wanted to be a mother so much that I would have to rework that sequence of events, or at least the timeline in which they happened. So while it is true that we didn't plan to have you when we did, you were very much wanted and expected.

Ophelia, at this point I want to make something clear. Motherhood has never been negotiable for me. That said, neither has having a career. I desperately want a career. I want it not only so that I can contribute to our family financially but so that I can feel fulfilled as an individual. I want to be your example of a woman in love with the work she does. I want you to become a woman in love with the work she someday does. Building this career is essential to my long-term happiness. But that career can wait a little while. Part of the beauty of having you before becoming more financially secure is that I didn't have to make the decision of whether or not to take time off from a job that I love to be with you. I don't have that job yet so the decision was totally clear. I get to spend a large chunk of time with you as a baby before jumping back into the work force (or graduate school as the case may be). I love this! I also love that you get to be with your grandparents while they are still young. They have so much wisdom to impart upon you, for you to miss out on really knowing them would be a shame.

Sometimes it's difficult to remember why I decided to be the first of my friends to take the plunge into parenthood. It can be isolating and lonely at times. But then I remind myself that your dad and I made this decision very intentionally and our reasons are still very solid. I remind myself that we still have all the resources we need to give you the childhood you deserve. You will have summers spent at the lake with your grandparents, take camping trips to Yellowstone, learn to craft, read endless piles of books, bake blackberry pies from fruit you picked yourself, build tree forts and love learning at an awesome public school. That's the childhood I want for you and it's the one I intend on giving to you. My age plays no factor in that.

I just might be able to fall asleep now despite the fact that the party still isn't over but I'll write a little more about you before trying. You are changing every day and I am always in awe of you. You have started mimicking sounds, smiling and even laughing sometimes. It sends my heart soaring to see your pretty smile. You are such a beautiful baby. Everyone says so. A random stranger walked across a restaurant the other day to say how beautiful she thought you were. People always comment on how peaceful you are too. Serenity- that was one of the blessings we drew for you on the day of your birth. You already embody it. You are happiest in my arms and often start fussing if you're away from me for too long. I feel guilty for thinking it but it secretly makes me happy. I love being your favorite person. You're mine :)

That's all for now, my love.

Mama

Offbeat Mama Reject

Hello again, sweet daughter. Today I have a previously-written letter to post to your blog. The (somewhat embarassing) thing about this letter is that it has been rejected. I sent it in last week to Offbeat Mama in the hopes of having it published on their site. Um. They sent it back. Within a few hours. I wouldn't take this rejection so personally but these ladies are MY PEOPLE. They're the other writers, crafters, homebirthers, cloth-diaper-ers that just happen to be mamas as well! It's my little safe haven on the vast expanse of the interweb. And they rejected me. For the second time. Meh. Oh well, this letter was written for you anyway so I will suck it up and just post it for you, the tiny love of my life. Enjoy! Dear Ophelia,

Today I made a decision. Today I decided that I would stop looking over the fence, stop obsessing over the greener grass. Today I decided that not only is what I have good enough, what I have is exactly what I want.

You see, my dear daughter, I’ve always been a frequent partaker of envy. I’ve envied others’ jobs, relationships, houses, crafting abilities…the list goes on. At times envy has even become a hobby in itself when I would spend large chunks of time actively comparing my life to everyone else’. This is probably why I should be banned from reading the blogs of super creative, well-dressed people with good taste in home décor. The resulting feeling is always one of inadequacy. Her husband loves yoga? Rob won’t even go to a class with me. Stuff in her Etsy shop is selling like gangbusters? I can’t even get my act together enough to set up an account. And while I hate to admit it, when I unexpectedly became pregnant, my jealousy skyrocketed. I envied women who had accomplished more in their careers before having kids. I envied couples that had gotten married before becoming pregnant. I envied anyone that appeared to have planned shit out a little bit better than I had.

And then came you.

I’ve heard mothers describe the feeling of first meeting their babies as one of recognition, as if they have known them all along. And although I could see myself reflected in your red hair, your tiny bow lips and your sweet gummy smile, I could not help but feel like you were too perfect to be mine. That perfection that I had always felt was so far away, so untouchable, was now dozing at my breast.

As you can imagine, sweet Ophelia, your birth changed everything. The thing is, it HAD to change everything. How could I stand to reason that my life was somehow insufficient if it now included a person whose perfection had struck me so profoundly? And how could I be the best mother possible to this tiny, flawless being if I was always modeling an attitude of ungratefulness for all I have? How would she ever learn to just be happy when her own mom constantly expressed the need for more, more, more? Though I have only had a month to adjust to motherhood I can tell you beyond a shadow of a doubt that I will do almost anything to ensure your happiness, even if that means doing one of the hardest things of all: looking within myself and deciding to make a change.

Today I made that decision. Today I decided that you and your dad and our spastic cats and smelly rabbit and this pretty cool apartment in this pretty shitty neighborhood are just what I want. And that my husband is sweet and hilarious and sexy, even if he doesn’t do yoga with me. And that I am creative and smart and resourceful even if I don’t have that Etsy shop going just yet and that writing career is taking a little longer than anticipated. And I’m going to make a damn good mother because I’m all of those things and because my love for you is fierce enough that it has forced me to finally see things clearly.

What I really want to say, Ophelia, is that life is good. Thank you for reminding me.

Love always,

Mama