As the holiday season approaches each year, I can’t help but reflect on that Christmas nearly a decade ago when my pregnant belly felt like a snow globe, ready to burst. Sleep was elusive, and the pregnancy migraines were relentless, with the twinkling lights outside our window causing my eyes to ache. I was exhausted, sensitive, and undeniably pregnant.
But most importantly, I was filled with fear. While others gathered around their Christmas trees, I was unraveling. I was acutely aware that my life was about to change in ways I couldn’t even begin to fathom. Lying in bed, I found myself questioning, What have I gotten myself into?
Then, under the glow of a full moon just after New Year’s, you arrived. Just like that, I had no say in the matter: I became your mom.
When the midwives placed you in my arms, your cries echoed against my chest, and I felt like I was holding a tiny alien. You glimmered like a star, and I realized I had to learn how to love you. Initially, nursing was a challenge, and sleep was a distant memory. Your piercing blue eyes seemed to see right into my soul at 3 a.m. when I would silently think, I hate you. Yet, when you finally drifted off on my chest, I felt a love so intense it engulfed me from head to toe.
You taught me that it was okay to love that fiercely. It was fine to be overwhelmed by the enormity of that love, even afraid of it. It was entirely normal to resent the difficult moments while simultaneously clinging to them with all my strength.
My dear boy, I see you now, nestled in the top bunk, playing an iPad game while your little brother sleeps. It’s just the two of us, reminiscent of those early days when I rocked you endlessly in my arms. I carried you in a baby carrier, our hearts connected as we explored the world together. I never wanted to let you go.
How did we reach this point where you zone out on your device, playfully kicking me out of your bed after a brief chat? “Just wait on the bottom bunk,” you say. “You can stay until I fall asleep.”
So I do. I wait as you drift off, your long legs tangled in the blankets. How is it possible that next month you will turn 9? Where has the time gone? How many more Christmases will we share before you fly the nest? How long until our conversations become infrequent, echoing only in memories?
I understand that this transition will be gradual, and yet, it feels like it’ll happen in the blink of an eye. I will forever be your mother. My love for you will remain fierce and unwavering. Each Christmas, I will remember how I anticipated your arrival, how you transformed me into a mother.
You made me a mama, and you will always, always be my little one.
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In summary, as I reflect on the past holiday seasons and the profound journey of motherhood, I am reminded of the transformative love that comes with being a parent. Each year brings a new set of memories and milestones that I cherish deeply.