First Mother's Day // Photos & Reflections

Before I write this post, I first want to acknowledge... how difficult Mother's Day is for so many people. To the women who have lost mothers, who have strained relationships with their mothers, who have struggled to become mothers, and who have lost their little ones, my heart aches with yours.My husband asked me what I wanted to do for Mother's Day, and I told him I wanted the gift of time together and a family photo taken with a real camera, not just my iPhone (the only other one we have from my camera was taken in December!) So, after church and brunch with my mom and a late lunch with his mom, we drove home and played. We looked at the lilacs in our backyard, took pictures, tried out new watercolor paints, and snuggled in Sophie's chair while we read books. Sophie fell asleep in my arms.Since Sunday, I've been thinking about what it means to be a mother. I know we all have different experiences, and I love hearing them and reading about them. So, I thought I'd share what motherhood is to me, so far. (And I feel like I need to justify posts like these by saying that yes, this blog is a place for me to post my professional work, but it's also a place for me to journal my life. I hope that's okay. I have been doing a terrible job of hand-journaling these past few years, so my hope with these kinds of posts is that Sophie will look back one day and discover them. I love the idea of a 23-year-old Sophie reading my thoughts about what it was like to be mothering her infant-self.)

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Motherhood is pausing when you feel like you can push no longer--and audibly praying for God's strength. Motherhood is receiving it and using it. Motherhood is clinging to the drumming of the heartbeat on the monitor, its promise of coming joy with each short thump. It is feeling a tiny hand -- smaller than a doll's hand, smaller than you imagined -- grasp your pointer finger and hold it tightly. The crease between her eyes, the spot of red on her eyelid, the folds of skin around her fingers, the crinkled lips, her wide, dark eyes-- all so new, but somehow so very known. Motherhood is the adrenaline, the wonder, that keeps you up all night watching your baby girl sleep and inhale and exhale as she lies swaddled in a faded blanket of blue and pink footprints. Motherhood is worrying that she is eating too infrequently, spitting too often, breathing too quietly, breathing too loudly, sleeping too everything. Overly jaundiced, overly stimulated, overly held, overly kissed on her dandelion head -- no. Motherhood is watching the clouds turn pink with the rising sun as she sleeps with her cheek pressed to your chest.Motherhood is a torso of zebra stripes. Marks of a warrior. Stripes of a Warrior Zebra should probably be the title of a children's book.It is a brown bear, brown bear; and a tweetle beetle puddle paddle battle; and Llama llama red pajama; and a pout pout fish with a pout pout face. Motherhood is a third -- or fourth -- nursing cookie.  It is buckling the baby in the carseat then immediately rebuckling. Motherhood is showing her the magic of mirrors, of crackly balloons, of bubbles, of purple lilacs, and of dog yawns. It is dancing to "Footloose"  and "Space Jam" more times than is acceptable-- just to see her smile and smile and kick and kick. It is pretending to gobble the rolls of her thunder thighs and the place where her neck meets her cheek.Motherhood is pulling your car over off I25 to wipe her wet eyes and rock her back to sleep. As you stand in the parking lot of an empty bank, you can hear the cars whistle down the highway. Clouds begin to cover the sinking sun, but a rush of golden and orange seeps out beneath them. You feel the warmth from the pavement around your bare ankles. Her soft belly rises and falls in your arms, and she smells subtly sweet, like opening a box of wafers or graham crackers. Motherhood is waiting for the right moment to pack up and keep driving. Motherhood is lingering in that moment with conscious supplication.

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P.S. I noticed that, to me, motherhood is defined mostly with verbs. That seems right. I also made the choice to write in second person. That also seemed right.^ Lipstick on her cheeks because I cannot. stop. the. smooching.