A Brief on Motherhood, One Year In

This year. 

This year has been: 365 taped-together miracles. Of nurturing. Of unexplainable beauty. Attachment. Untethered love. Immense sacrifice. Quietening guilt. Catastrophic joy. A year of being lost and, eventually, found. One year after Florence's birth, I am beginning to recognize myself again. 

Motherhood has changed me with the gravity of its demands, emotionally and physically. My heart is saturated with joy and glee - the best of loving a tiny person. My peace, my sense of self, and my mental health are dangling off the other end of the scale, in the desperate hope of something that resembles balance - the constraints of loving a tiny person.   

I have had to let go.

The past year is a pile of days that cannot be tidied, only bundled into a messy lump I dare not to pick up for a while, afraid that I'll set them all loose, scattering my life into mayhem once again. Some days ring so loudly in my ears, I want to set them to rest for good. Others remain smooth and whole like pebbles in my palm. I carry those days around with me, polishing my favorites. When I do look back, though I rarely do at this stage, I find relief to be stronger than nostalgia. Though, I'm convinced time will eventually flip that. It feels healthy that we're here, standing over two feet tall, with hair and teeth that need brushing (Florence) and a mom (me) that has a chance to brush her own.

We are one. And right now, that is everything.