sticky fingers and half eaten apples

3 years and 40 weeks ago, I became a mother.

I know for myself, and from all my friends who have suffered losses, we become mothers from the moment we know we are carrying.

We walk on eggshells for 13 weeks. We want to trust. We know pretty much everything is outside our control. We want to feel excited but not too much. We don’t want to feel nervous but the nerves aren’t good with boundaries.

Then there’s the preparing - so much preparing. Preparing for what, I still don’t know, seeing that most of the information I gathered was out of my head by the time Sebi was born. If anything is for sure, it is that the plan is never a plan. And a plan is never the plan.

The fog of the first 6 weeks turned into a lightning fast 3 years. The days are long, but the years are short, as the saying goes, and add in what feels like crazy time travel to your past that needs healing or stare at your threenager knowing it’s a preview of years to come.

And here we are. The season of sticky fingers. Of half eaten apples. The ones that you forget in the cup holder in the car. The ones that warm with the heat of the sun rays as the day goes on. The ones that leave that aroma of bitterness and alcohol off-gassing that attacks you when you get back in the car.

This is prime toddlerhood. Chaotically charming. Unbridled in its emotional range.

It is the time of snuggles deep into my curves, curves that are not judged, just warm and cozy.

It is being fluent in your unique little language, our own unique little language.

It is hilarity like I’ve never known, and touched out moments where “one more noise will turn me into a b!#$^”.

It is open mouthed kisses. It is apologizing for raising my voice when I get scared with zero grudge held for my reaction. It is authenticity. It is developmental neuroticism, it is extraversion and shyness all in one.

It is being driven to my edge, waiting for the minutes until bedtime, and then watching you sleep peacefully, missing you in the hours of rest, watching you grow.

I am in awe of you at this stage. I am in awe of who you are becoming and who you are teaching me to be.

Happy birthday to you sweet baby, and rebirth to me.