i loved being pregnant, smooth and round, noticed and full.
i loved labor, predictable and interesting, surrender calling me and hot water.
i loved birthing my babies, like fish flapping and cool breeze, eyes closed but seeing it all.
i loved nursing, tingling and release, sustaining and sweet.
more and more i understand why. they were times when so much made sense. they were times when my body did work without me even trying to help. they were times when focus was inevitable, pain was normal, naps were essential, water tasted amazing, bumps and lumps were the beautiful evidence of life.
i love these children who came through me.
further more, i like them.
as these people grow older, i find myself watching them more. they don’t need me like they used to. i’m a bit farther back so i can see the slight raise of their eyebrows, the way they move their arms when they walk, the moment they notice a bird in the tree, the information they discover on their own, the technique to tie their shoes, where the water hits when carrying a full bucket.
to say i’m grateful to be their mother feels like i’m only scratching the surface. like showing the vastness of the ocean with a thimble of water, the magic of a forest with a single leaf.
but under the surface is the quiet, deep knowing of the gift it is to simply watch the moments of their lives happen. happy mother’s day.