mommyhood

It's been a melancholy week. I suppose I'm PMSing. Without the M. I hear it can happen, and it has been happening regularly every month, the week after Bella's month birthday. Or maybe it just falls the week before bills are due. Coincidence? Perhaps not. Enter parenthood, not to be confused with mommyhood. Mommyhood is emotional but pure. There's nothing a little booba can't fix. And there's nothing Bella can't fix with that genuine whole-body smile and that peach-soft voice. That sound can coax me out from any mood and bring me back to earth, back to what's important. My child, my gift, that's mommyhood, and there's not a moment I don't cherish.

But parenthood is frustrating. It's when you wonder how each paycheck could possibly stretch to the next bill, and what to do when it won't. I used to just pick up an extra shift, but there's no flexibility in life anymore, and my attempts to work at home are failing. Sometimes I smack my head and wonder what I was thinking, having a kid before clearing off debt. But it was suddenly so important, to have my own child instead of handing one back each night, after adventures and bubble baths and story time and hugs and cuddles. I wanted a child that I could fall in love with (even more? would it be possible? indeed, it is.) and keep. And after one loss, it seemed all the more important that it be now.

I know that it is useless to imagine myself with the child I was destined not to have. But on these melancholy days, it's hard not to bring myself back there. My happiest memories of our brief relationship were early winter mornings as the car warmed up, me gazing blissfully up at the stars through the sun roof, talking out loud as I dreamed of day we would name the stars together. I was never able to feel that content when I was pregnant with Isabelle. Even now, my heart stops mid beat at the inevitable possibility that some day we will be separated. That's the complexity of mommyhood. Simultaneously knowing the purest love and the most profound fear of loss.

It's hard to dig out from beneath that stifling, suffocating fear. Last year I was in such a dark place that even now, basking in the warm glow of motherhood, I'm chilled by the memories and fear of future loss. That's for another post perhaps, one that is always circulating in my brain. It's a feeling that is impossible to fully express, and harder still for others to understand while hovering on the outside, restrained by a society that is afraid to touch those who have lost something so dear.

Bella is a reality now, my happiness and light, defining me in new ways each day. I get to wear her day in and day out, an extension of myself, her favorite place to be. She's cozy and involved, and for a girl who refuses to nurse to sleep, there's no better way to count sheep. But those are all excuses. I love it, too. Selfishly, I need her close, back home, kicking and wiggling against my skin. At last I get to enjoy it from the outside in a way I never could when she was inside, fearing that my body might somehow turn on me again. But she's here now, teaching me to enjoy life in ways I never thought possible.

Thankfully, when the stresses parenthood creep up and threaten to overtake my new found happiness, mommyhood steps in. When bills stack up and I feel farther from home than ever, and my beautiful girl is screaming in fatigue and frustration, I call upon the memory of the One I Lost to get me through. He reminds me to think of our best moments and cherish the one who made it here just to be with me. It's painful and bittersweet for me to thank him for giving himself up so that I could have my Isabelle, and because of it I cherish my daughter, my gift, all the more each day.