My daughter Juliette turns 3 today. It happened out of the blue. Last night while Antoine and I were talking about her upcoming birthday, I said,
Only 15 more years, and we’ll be able to kick her out.
Can’t believe that 1/6th of 18 years has gone by already.
And then it really hit me. These 3 years went by so fast. There will only be 5 more clumps of 3 years, before she “gets kicked out?”
I feel the need to catch up – Can we please hit REWIND?
I feel like we aren’t spending enough time together, even though we’re home together most of the day.
Half of whatever time we spend together, is spent asking (read: nagging) her to eat properly, to not jump on the bed, to finish her milk, to put her shoes on, to get in the shower, or to put her clothes on.
Sometimes before I go to bed, I stop by at her room and just appreciate life with her. It’s amazing how an egg and sperm coming together can end up to be the only thing in your life that really matters.
Motherhood is really weird. I didn’t really get it before it happened. I thought being a mother was ‘normal’, nothing THAT impressive, just some more responsibility to add to my daily life.
I didn’t expect to feel this burst of love every time I look at her.
Or to fall so in love with her little voice that even when she’s screaming “MAMA!”, sometimes I make her call me again and again, just because it’s music to my ears.
Sometimes when we are out and she calls out for me, I feel this immense pride.
Yes. She’s referring to me. I’m her mama. No one else. She wants me.
I didn’t expect to be this blubbering mom. Talking about her kids all the time. Posting about her kids all the time. Looking at old photos before bed and tearing up – feeling so nostalgic for a time when she still asked for ‘boobie’ – and crying because she doesn’t anymore.
Anyway, like I said, this motherhood thing is weird.
When I got pregnant with Oliver, I felt like most mothers. I felt the loss of spending time with just one kid, and being able to give my undivided attention to her.
Now when I see the both of them playing together, how she runs to him every time she gets home from daycare, how she looks for him first thing when she wakes up, how she runs up the stairs when she hears her brother crying, and how she tells me, “Oliver is my baby, too.”, I feel love.
I have enough.
And I have never felt more whole.