Never in all my years of infertility did I comprehend how much richer my life would be with a child.
Each day brings a new lesson not only about the development of this human being I created, carried and birthed taking her from helpless being to self-sufficient adult, but also about myself.
My mom, who raise four children of her own, told me right after Dagny was born that having a baby would bring up all my own issues. My childhood, my subconscious fears, dreams and desires.
Mom knows best.
Something I learned about myself in these eight months – that I could be very happy making someone else the center of my world.
It’s not a lesson you’ll learn easily. A fellow mommy friend told me once, rather openly and bitterly, that I better enjoy my life now before it becomes “all about someone else.”
The transition from single girl to married woman seemed a larger leap than married woman to married mommy. Perhaps it’s all that getting used to sharing living quarters with a man (I never co-habitated).
In each new experience – from eating her first piece of banana to sprouting her first perfect tooth – makes me feel reborn.
But it’s not all roses.
I’m tired. All the time. I feel so drained at the end of my days that I sometimes fall asleep on the couch – a habit I detest.
I’m growing rather indifferent to her cries and find myself distinguishing between “real” cries and “it-can-wait-til-I-brush-my-teeth” cries.
My body’s become a beat up vessel to carry me around the world. Working out used to give me a mental break and now, when I do go, the time flies as I tick off my many chores back at home.
Work’s been a main thrust of my life. A job well done gives me immense satisfaction.
But that takes a back seat more often than I would like. Yet I know the more I work, the better her lifestyle will be growing up.
But what’s more important? More money or more time with mommy?
As I tried to sneak out for a business meeting this week, I heard her make a noise of greeting from the living room.
I paused in time to see her crawl around the corner of the couch, see me and light up like the Fourth of July as if to say: “See what I’m doing?”
Her chubby, wobbly hands marched forward, her knees kept up making careful advances. I stood still, making her meet me in the kitchen and when she did, she grabbed my shoe, pulled herself up and reached for me.
My eyes welled up with pride. I bent down to meet her excited little face, kiss her soft round cheek and hug her.
“Oh, little Bird! Look what you did!” She giggled and hugged my neck, absolutely tickled with her big accomplishment.
It’s a moment too beautiful for words – one worth every struggle.