With Child and I

What are the big things I’d like to tell you? What are the small secrets you may never know unless I write them down? I’ll tell you that I fought back the quiver that comes before tears while watching you in your first swimming class. Holding you in my hands, your wet face in front of mine with that blue cap pushing down a frown and your eyes still sleepy from the nap that ended after the lesson had started.

I looked into that face and saw myself, my everything, all the years to come, all the days and nights I need to keep you safe, the million ways your face will change and yet still show me me. It wasn’t the right time to cry and happy tears are never really well understood, but I felt it so fiercely: love and pride. When you look at me, this is what I feel. In secret or in a crowd, when I know I am yours and you are mine.

And then came, in the same week, you… sitting up. Unsupported. That neck so long and poised and proud. In what feels like a matter of twenty four hours, it all changes. A greenhouse of babyhood. New fruits each day. What secrets will we have tomorrow? I’m less scared each day but I do have to watch my thoughts, to sit in trust. I’m stronger each day too, carrying nine kilograms in my arms, close to my heart.

I read recently how important having your own community is when you’re a new mother. It’s always been true but I’ve never heeded the advice until now. I think this is the greatest way you’re changing me, and I know that like the countless new ways you grow each day, I’m not done changing either.