Am I the only one who freaks out every new year that time is passing far too quickly?
For some reason I figured by the time I had a five year old daughter, I'd feel like I had finally arrived. Somehow I'd be fully legit as a parent and not look like the poser I surely did holding my squalling infant who wouldn't nurse when I was barely 21. I even got a "mom" haircut to try and make myself look older at the time, which in retrospect didn't really work...I just look like a 21 year old with a bad haircut and my husband didn't fare any better trying to suit up for his first real teaching job. He looks like a boy-man wearing one of his dad's ties for his first real job interview...which I guess he sort of was.
And we knew even less than we looked the part. Until we brought our daughter home I had probably held a baby less than a handful of times that I could remember. Even my job at a daycare had naively made me think I was ready for parenthood, but reality hit harshly that 2 year olds and 2 day olds are very different things.
I remember singing to my little baby girl who upon looking back at photos and videos really does look like a california raisin, although at the time I'm pretty sure I can still hear my voice exclaiming to my sister on the telephone, that she didn't even look like a raisin like most other babies do.
Anyway, I sang because nothing else came naturally. My little one didn't sleep, didn't nurse and screamed bloody murder in the bath. My eyes wouldn't stop crying, my arms ached like they were going to fall off, my brain wouldn't form actual thoughts and of course everything else about my body was foreign and frightening to me too. But sing; this I could do. So I held her little body all wrapped up tightly like a blanket burrito and tried to make eye contact with the little slit of eye that was peeking open.
I don't remember what I sang, I only remember how just like everything else at that time it felt strange and foreign, sort of like praying aloud in front of others. I wanted it sound authentic and heartfelt; I wanted it to bond me to my little raisin, but when rang back in my own ears were the wavering tones of an insecure new mother on the brink of exhaustion and another flood of tears.
I promised myself and her that I'd get the hang of it, and I didn't just mean the singing. I meant the whole deep end of the motherhood pool that I had just been thrown into sink or swim. I promised myself that by the time she was headed off to school, a bonafide little girl with running shoes and pig tails that I'd be calm and cool and collected. That I'd hit my stride and effortlessly navigate story time, playdates, carpools and even time outs.
Well, she's five now and I am glad to say that I mastered a lot of skills in my role as mom that I have since forgotten in the same way I emptied my head of all the information I had crammed in late night studying as soon as the big exam was finished to make room for the next big test coming up.
I sing all the time and she sings with me now. We sing songs I sang to her back in those earliest days, I teach her new songs, she teaches me knew song and sometimes she just sings made up words that go nowhere and everywhere all at the same time.
We have a steady repertoire that are necessary to bedtimes.
And still five years later, sometimes my throat catches, and tears threaten to knock my notes off balance. I feel unsure and overwhelmed.
I make promises to her and to myself as she grows sleepy in my arms that I will never arrive.
I will never stop learning or growing or challenging myself to be better for her always.
I promise myself that tomorrow I can try again to master the skills I failed at miserably today. To speak with more patience, to hurry less, to laugh more and to pray pray pray.
I am blown away by how quickly five years can go by and how little time that really is to learn anything. I am beginning to get a grasp on the fact that I will always be a novice at this mothering gig, and that will keep me humble, that will keep me willing to learn.
Cause really I have all the time in the world.
