birthday mother

Today is my first birthday as a mom. Last year I was pregnant on my birthday and had most of my closest friends gathered around me as I celebrated. Two days later, I miscarried. Now I have my baby bundled in my arms. He is real, substantial--the perfect gift. For years I spent all of my time conjuring motherhood--thinking, imagining, dreaming, writing--now I am a mother and have less time to contemplate. Now it is all in the living. One day becomes the next and the one after that and we are together learning how to be mother and son. I anchor myself in his growth and he in turn does the same for me; I am transformed by him, incalculably, wonderfully, undeniably.

Today my life comes more sharply into focus. I am finally a new mother. It has taken me a long time to get here but now that I am here, I want more. I want to be better as a mother, a wife, a woman, a writer. I want to open myself up, be brave, admit that I have been so terrified of losing something precious that I am lazy with my efforts in furthering myself. This is not the woman I choose to mother my child. This year I will not only wish for more, I will make it happen.