Thursday, April 16, 2015
Mother's Day 2015
It's amazing, in a few short days (literally days), we've gone from -4C to +14C. It's quite something. We went on our first adventure to the river the other night. Watching Baby Faye's face as the geese landed on the water, I was once again I am reminded of why we chose to move out this way.
I am honestly beyond awed by my son's joy and general amazingness these days. I am so very happy that where we live with provide him with a slew of amazing childhood adventures to grew up to.
And can I just say, honestly, heart to heart here, that I am falling more and more in love with my son every day these days, which is just so flipping amazing after struggling so much during that first year.
I remember feeling, in those first months, so guilty because I didn't feel like I radiated maternal love. I felt raw and bitter. Overwhelmed and isolated. And most importantly, like I couldn't be honest about how I felt without being judged a bad mother because I wasn't over the moon with love for my child. I "knew" that I cared but I didn't feel the awe and love that so many mothers ascribed to the mother-child bond.
But my god do I feel it now. And it's amazing. Despite all the trials and tribulations of parenthood these days, I can finally say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I love this kid like I've never loved anyone or anything else. That each day he fills me with awe and wonder (and often frustration too but that's a given).
I'm just amazed by him and the things he does and is learning. Seeing the world through his eyes is an absolute gift and I'm so very thankful for the joy he has brought into my life. This age, so far, is his best age yet. Even with the temper tantrums and terrible twos.
Before he was born, before I knew he was a boy, I dreamed of him at this age. He was a blonde, blue eyed, chubby cheeked boy, walking and holding my hand. I awoke from that dreaming knowing not only that we would have a boy, but that he would be just that, blonde, blue eyed with chubby cheeks. The other day, as I walked with him from daycare, I was totally overwhelmed by the realization that this is it, this is exactly the baby boy I dreamed of in that moment. He is the exact age of that little boy in my dream and he's such a joy. From the way he points his finger and tells us "don't you do that" to the way he lifts his bowl and says "more" to pasta and oranges or the way he rocks out on his toy guitar (I kid you not, he really rocks out and neither of us have any idea where he learned it from).
More importantly, I am just so utterly relieved to finally feel like I am truly over the postpartum anger that coloured much of my first year of motherhood. And having come so far from those days, I also feel like I can be much more honest about those days now without fear of how negative I sound or the judgement of others. I think women (and men) need to be more honest about how hard the early years are.
Ironically, there are those who are, but often you only find them much later, after you're already drowning in the days of new parenthood and looking for solace. People tell you that it gets better, easier, but in the eye of the storm it really doesn't feel like calmer days will ever come. But they do. I promise.