This moment played through my mind a million times last night. I can still see the lights of the delivery room, feel my mom’s anticipation and J’s tension. I can feel the fear I had when the whisked my son away from me without even letting me see him, and the relief that washed over me when I heard his first cry. Overdue, I had spent ten months feeling him grow, three days waiting to deliver, and one full day walking around the hospital trying to get things moving and ease the pain of the contractions. When my water (hilariously) broke in the hallway, I laughed so hard it’s a wonder I didn’t deliver then and there. At 7:30, my Mom went to find a nurse. At 7:40 I announced that I was delivering that baby. At 7:55, I was a Mommy.
It was the happiest and the scariest day of my life all at the same time. Everything changed in a minute. My life had new meaning, a new purpose. I had purpose. I felt the type of love that only a mother can feel, and it filled my heart so much I could feel it bursting. It now breaks about five times a day as I watch that little baby running around like a bull in a China shop. From small and helpless to the three-year-old teenager, I’ve cried when he cried, felt his pain when he fell, laughed at his smile and laid silently with him for hours. He is my greatest accomplishment, the wind beneath my wings and the roots that keep me grounded all at once. He makes me want to be a better person. It’s almost 7:55PM on Thursday night – F was born on a Thursday night. Every time I catch the clock at 7:55PM, my hear skips a beat. It’s my absolute favourite time.
My last full week with him has come to an end. Tomorrow morning will be a busy one, getting ready and hitting the road. In a week’s time, I’ll be alone in the new apartment. How do you prepare your heart for that hurt? How do you talk yourself through it? I am terrified and I’m not sure if I can, although I also thought I couldn’t possibly raise a child at all, much less be doing it alone.
But, maybe I’ll surprise myself. I do that a lot.