“Ahhhh maaaaa maaaa”
His call is early today. My ears and heart stir before my eyes and body do. I automatically check my phone: 5:53. Too early, but he’s not one of those alarm clocks you get to hit snooze on.
I go to him, offer a breast, which he takes happily. We rock, and rock, and rock, but his mind is already awake and his body follows. In the quiet morning of motherhood the sun is just peeking up over the horizon. Some birds are awake and singing, but most are still huddled in their warm nests. I’m jealous, thinking of my warm bed, as I pull on another layer in my chilly house.
I split up the scrambled eggs from the pan. Like everything, they, too, are now common property between us. His tiny fat fingers selectively pick up piece after piece, shoving them delightedly in his little mouth.
I stir the pureed ham in with his oatmeal, repulsed at texture and smell. We eat in silence, but stare at each other contentedly. I think about how much the story of my life has changed in the past ten months, as he sneezes ham droplets in my direction.
In my old chapters, I never would have been up to greet the sun, or share my food, or indiscriminately wipe poopy butts. Before, I only focused on myself and what was next for me. Motherhood as a funny way of rewriting your entire world in an instant. It also has a way of making your life suddenly perfect.
The morning is getting brighter and louder as the birds exchange greetings. I notice a spew ham drop in my hair and wipe it out. My breakfast companion has moved onto Cheerios, but I can’t seem to move on to the next phase with him. I want to keep him like this; so perfect, in this perfect moment forever.
In the quiet mornings of motherhood is where my new story begins.
