you have my ears and other ramblings of a new mother.
Here you are, pressed against my chest, hiding my three week postpartum belly beneath your legs (thank you). Chest to chest, I can hear you breathing. You are woven close to me in your favourite wrap. Looking down I see your seashell ears, perfectly formed. When you were first born, one ear was folded down, just a little. I imagined you pressed against my bones, your ear, so soft and pliable, feeling the pressure of fluids and contractions.
Just a week ago or so, it finally unfolded, now forming a beautiful matching pair. You have my ears. I like my ears.
A newborn is constantly changing, and you’re no different. I see so much of your papa in you, yet I know you are mine, because you radiate your mama’s vibes. I must admit, I’m a little nervous, because I was a feisty little child. I can see it in your eyes–you know what you want. But besides your will, I see you have my nose and eyes. I see these things, and can scarcely believe it.
When you were tucked in my womb, I thought about you all day long, and what you would look like, feel like, how you would respond to this world. And now that you’re here…I’m simply taking each day as it comes. I’m aware of how fast time is flying by. You were born three weeks ago. The day I went into labour…well it feels like ages ago. Not only were you born, but I was born again as a mother. It was not and is not an easy transformation. Unlike you, mothers are not born overnight, although they blossom rather quickly.
The first two weeks, I actually felt like running away, just a little. I would feel this wave of exhaustion and anxiety, mostly when 8:00pm rolled around. The nights seemed endless and scary. Could I handle this? I was being broken; my selfishness was getting stretched away from the marrow, and it hurt.
It’s no longer just about me. I thought pregnancy would teach me that, but alas, it did not. And so, I pour out my love and warmth and milk all day and all night long, and pray that you grow strong, and not too fast. I cannot believe you depend on me.
You are so helpless right now, it breaks my heart. People say that my God doesn’t care about us, hides His goodness behind a facade of religion or buries women in the background. But it’s not true. I am being shown every single day, how blessed and beautiful and strong I am. God gives women one of the greatest gifts He could bestow upon humans. He calls us mothers, deems us worthy of raising children, feeding them, nurturing them. He sets us free. Women have an inner strength that is fierce. My admiration for mothers who have raised little ones stretches far and wide (mum, you are at the top of the list). And I cannot believe I’m stepping into that role.
I thought my hands and eyes had touched and seen some pretty magnificent things.
But nothing compares to the weight of you in my arms.