Mine

Sixteen years ago I gave birth to a perfect baby girl. Surrounded by friends and family. My best friend, 9 months pregnant herself, slept on the waiting room floor while we waited for princess to show her face.

My grandmother kept asking how long it would take. My mother assured me she had never been in the pain I was in and that I should just “get the epidural”. While my dad mostly looked uncomfortable.

My would-be brother in law told the anesthesiologist that I had Tourette’s when he entered the room during a contraction and heard a slew of curse words leaving my mouth. Then laughed when they told me I would need a catheter because I wouldn’t be able to feel anything below my waist. “Bet she wouldn’t have agreed to the epidural if you’d told her that first,” he laughed.

He was right. However, my epidural never did work properly and I avoided the catheter insisting on a bed pan instead.

My doula told me that the baby couldn’t come because I was so clamped down that my body couldn’t do what it needed to. It’s like I was holding her in. Refusing to share her with the world.

In hindsight, she was probably right. I needed to give up control to allow nature to take its course. As a mother, giving up control is perhaps the hardest thing we can do. Yet it’s what is required of us. We grow them in our wombs, keep them healthy and safe. We sing to them and read to them and press their toes when they dig into our ribs.

They are all ours. In a secret world with a secret language. During pregnancy you learn what foods they like and which to avoid. You learn what time of day they are most active and what times they are most likely to be asleep. They give a whole new meaning to “butterflies” in your tummy. You may have shared your life with someone before pregnancy, but not like this. Sharing your body with another person is a completely different and humbling experience.

It’s a lot like magic.

So, it’s no wonder that I wasn’t quick to let it go.

Now that our “waiting room” is mostly empty– we have once again– come to rely on each other. And I am reluctant to share her. Once again.

16 years later. Knowing that this baby can (almost) take care of herself. Soon she will be able to work and drive and cook without my assistance. She will have friends that I don’t know. Habits I didn’t teach her. A life I didn’t plan.

I can feel myself tightening my grip. Clamping down. Afraid to let her go. Like if I unclench– I may have to share her with the world at large.

I want to keep her mine. Like a secret.

But, what is a mother’s job, if not to prepare their children to leave the nest?

I know that when the time comes, I will open my arms and release her to the great unknown.

For now though, she is still mine.

Wrapped up in my love, safe from harm.

Happy Sweet 16 to the one that made me a Mom.

I hope I’ve taught you even half of all you’ve taught me.

Xoxo