this photo of my daughter. There were tears.
all over. The wound on my tummy was still fresh, and my breasts hurt
and bled; I dreaded nursing her every time. I barely slept. In the
morning, while I wrote articles and tended to the house, she was
asleep. At nighttime, she was awake, wailing incessantly. I would
nurse, cuddle, and rock her to sleep and still, she would cry.
crying as I nursed her. In those accidental naps, I would wake up to
her tiny, piercing voice as my arms broke loose from cupping her. I’d
be startled and I’d scold myself silly, “She could’ve fallen to the floor
while you slept.” This little bubble of life so fragile, housed in a strange world she knew so briefly.
mother – and hers too, as a daughter. Sometimes they fell with her in my arms. “What do you
really want? Why can’t you just stop crying?” Sometimes, they would
fall in the shower as she cried in her rocker.
too big for my small hands.
think back to the day I gave birth to her.
had a cord coil, so she was delivered via emergency C/S. My tears
tickled down in the green smock gown they fitted on me, its scent
heady with bleach. Those were tears of fear and pleading.
crying faintly. The nurse placed her against my cheek, on my chest.
at once, my head and hands too heavy with anesthetics to lift
themselves. She’s alive.
this day. I’ve cried countless times in my unripe years as a mother.
But today, my tears are of happiness and love. We have days of
bickering. But always, they end in tender moments. In every
reprimanding, in every fight we have, there is love.
But now, the gaps that once dominated my life no longer exist. It’s
all because one day, a child came to my life and made me a mother.
kind that no longer needs, but just wants to give. The kind that
knows no limits. The kind that weathers pain and loneliness and
comes out hopeful. The kind that heals even the deepest wounds. The kind that still peers in in its shining, bold glory when the tears come.
shed light, laughter, and love on life.