Funny…I thought motherhood would change me. Instead I kind of feel like I’m changing motherhood. Not in some huge revolutionary way - like I should be on Oprah. But just in my own small ways. Like I change it for myself, I twist around my own ideas of motherhood, I redefine them and become them. Like slipping into a hand-me-down and being inspired by its vintage.
Right now - as most days as Orion sleeps and I take a moment for myself in the quiet of our living room - where the afternoon light fills the spaces between my lips and fingers, I realize amazing things. Like that I survived the “fourth trimester”. My son will successfully be 3 months old this Thursday. No longer a newborn, just temporarily an infant. I’ve been ordered to enjoy this phase by strangers and family members alike. How could I not? How can I more? Every smile and sigh and kick and surprisingly loud fart sends me into the heavens. His father and I both are enamored with him. Our greatest compliment. To ourselves. To each other… is gazing at our son, drinking in his sweet quiet innocence and committing these things to memory. Then we kiss and Orion smiles.
I thought I might find it strange. To go from being an underpaid writer in Brooklyn, to working in a high rise in Manhattan to being a housewife and mommy. But as I ironed my husbands shirts last night, finding rhythm in the swish and hiss of the steam, I heard reaffirmation. “See that Orion? Mommy is ironing Daddy’s shirts because she loves him.” I turned around to see my two guys. My baby boy with his giant brown eyes, his gaze fixed on me, his smile puppeteered by my own. My husband, who works hard for us, has always loved me fearlessly and has gone through fire with me since we’ve met. I find myself at the edge of tears every other day. Happiness. How could this not be my life’s work?