I'd like to tell you a story. Well, maybe you wouldn't call it a story, but it's my story - my journey. I'll tell it in bits and pieces and details here and there. I won't start at the beginning, I'll start with a generic "a while ago". So, "awhile ago" my life looked a lot different. I used to have time. I "had" time like I had stuff - like it was a thing to keep, to covet, to share...and to lose. I was happy. At least, happy-ish, most of the time. I took long, long walks - a lot. I frequented local thrift shops for treasures, I ate frozen yogurt with a friend several times a week, and I spent countless hours on a trampoline under the huge oak tree in the tiny patch of grass my roommates and I called our backyard. I read books. Books about space and time and stars and God and life and meaning and relationships and food. I picked up or sat down at an instrument daily, and I would write. I wrote music & lyrics - stories and dreams and fears and complaints.
Fast forward past meeting & marrying the boy next door (not because that time doesn't matter, but because it's not really what this story is about).
I took people's pictures and documented events for a living, cooked dinner nearly every night and actually completed "pinned" DIY projects. I had a place for everything we owned, used store-bought face wash and thought nothing of the dairy in my diet. I thought women who chose to forego an epidural during labor and childbirth were nut jobs - with super powers. I had never heard of Weston A. Price or fermented cod liver oil or kombucha. I slept. I ate. I sat down. I drank (sometimes a few). I watched documentaries on Netflix. I went grocery shopping. I went to church every week. I rested, I prayed. I relaxed, I played.
I also worked, and worried, and was always in a hurry. I was a perfectionist who couldn't stand being wrong. I loved most aspects of my life and I adored my husband and I felt content and ready for my life to stay just the way it was for a long, long time.
and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, something - no, everything - changed.
I now worried about brand new things: germs and tap water and vitamin D intake and vaccinations and growth charts and milk supply. I didn't sleep. Really, I stopped sleeping. I became an overtired, cranky, worried mess. I no longer cooked dinner every night, or every week. I no longer went grocery shopping. I no longer read. My instruments gathered dust. My days grew longer and less productive. I no longer had time - none that belonged to me.
but, I've also slowed down. I get less done, but I take more in. I'm so, so tired; but, so fulfilled. I love bigger and harder than I knew possible. I don't sleep, but it's ok because I don't want to miss a thing. I'm more paranoid about everything than ever, but it's because I care about something so much. I have a long list of to-dos, and less time to do them. I pray harder and more frequently than ever before. I thank God for giving you to me. My time that I once had to keep, to covet, to lose - I now share. I share all my time with the most important thing in my life.
My dear Madelynn Rose,
You have taught me how to stop, and you remind me to smile. often. I've never been happier, more grateful or more proud. You are mine. You are what matters. You are the first thing I see and touch when I wake up (all 10+ times a night), and you are the last thing on my mind each and every time I fall back asleep. Motherhood - from the first day of "morning, noon & night" sickness, to the incessant burning in my throat every time I laid down for the last 4 months you were in my belly - has been tough, to say the least. Motherhood - from the first time we saw your little gummy bear body and heard your strong heartbeat, to the last time we watched you practice breathing before you made your grand entrance - has been a blessing, to say the least. Motherhood - from the first painful contraction, to the last intense push - has been the hardest thing I've ever done. Motherhood - from the first time I saw your beautiful eyes open to look up and meet mine, to the last time you looked up at me this afternoon before drifting to sleep in my arms - has been the best thing I've ever done. Motherhood- from the first night when we brought you home at 4 hours old and pulled our first all-nighter as parents, to my still sleepless nights, 7 months later, of nursing you and holding you and reassuring you I'm not going anywhere- has been impossible. Motherhood- from the first time you laughed to this morning while you chatted away as I read to you - is indescribably amazing.
I miss my sleep and I miss my time - but I don't want them back, I love sharing them with you.
love always, your mama.