March
By: Chelsea Duchemin
Tags: Motherhood, Parenting, Baby, Babies And Young Children, Mommy Bloggers

March

I remember the first time I felt the feeling of complete and utter, butterfly-in-the-stomach excitement over the realization that my baby was my very own and that I got to wake up to his chubby, sweet self every morning. Every morning I got to turn over in bed and see him. Smell him. Hold him and barely be able to contain the joy that I felt over this baby that definitely just shit himself.

He was probably about 2 months old (I’d always found joy in him, but this moment stands out) and the sun was shining in our cheap blinds in our bedroom of our apartment. He was awake before me but wasn’t fussing, just smiling that newly discovered smile and I knew then that I had to hold onto that feeling. That feeling that would inevitably get lost in small measures over the years.

That feeling that you can’t imagine ever forgetting or ever dulling because of how much it filled you and how strongly it took hold. I needed it to stay.

That feeling that softens when they're biting your nipple or hitting you during a tantrum. When they're not eating the damn food you made because it's just ALL WRONG. When they're not sleeping and sneezing directly into your eyeballs. When they're pooping in the bathtub. When they're old enough to tell you that you're mean or that they hate you. When they start to see that you're not perfect.

Until suddenly you're rolling out of bed like a bear that's been woken from hibernation. Your words are short and sharper and you're not rejoicing over little faces and sun shining through.

Of course you love them and know how lucky you are to have them every single day. But motherhood is heavy and the weight of it is showing. It's felt. By more than just yourself.

So you try to get it back in small measures. That feeling.

You steal your chances in between planning and cooking and cleaning and working and being a sister, daughter, friend, colleague, wife, aunt, woman and making every decision for every single person in the family. By practicing self care and trying to swallow the guilt that is often mutually exclusive with self care. You write the sweet notes in their lunch box and imagine the smile even if all you're greeted with at pickup is grumps on wheels. You pick the onions out and kiss the booboos and get the fabric softener that smells so good, you hope they remember what moms clean laundry smells like when they're grown.

You give at a cost.

So you try to do all the things. Other things that they might only appreciate when they're older. Like pursuing a career in a male dominated field so the girls see that they can fuck shit up too. That there's room for them. You put yourself out there in situations that are wholly not in your wheelhouse so you can be an example. You work and hustle and get by so they can see how that looks. You volunteer and help friends and organize. You give so much to so many. But then they're left with scraps. And that feeling that once roared is a whisper in a tired and anxious heart.

But then there are these moments, so fleeting you sometimes miss them until you look back. Moments where they run to you when you walk in the door of the home you've made. Moments where you'll the only one that will do. Moments when they're sick and only your lap is the cure. When they look to you and see the omnipresent and powerful mom that can banish the bad guys and make the best mashed potatoes. When they see you.

And you see them. And know that the feeling can never be lost. It just evolves. It grows into a rapport. It grows into laughter ar inappropriate jokes and sharing ourselves with each other, my precious children. It grows as they do and is an ever changing surprise that I can now delight in.

I've made a place for it, forever in my heart. That sunny March morning & the gift I've received. And there it will grow when watered.