She shakes her head until I have to turn mine to the side, her little nose nuzzling deeper and deeper into my neck as if she wants to climb back inside me where she doesn't get cold, she doesn't feel hungry and her pacifier was not needed. It takes her a few minutes to find the perfect spot and I always know when she does because her eyelashes flutter against my skin, her paci beating against my flesh and it is always followed by a soft sigh that makes my heart hurt and soar and ache all at the same time.
I am stupid over her.
And I love it.
What I was not expecting is that staring at her at 4 a.m. would make me think of the woman that once held me at 4 a.m.
I don't think of her often.
Scratch that.
I didn't think of her often.
Not until I started growing my own daughter, her swift kicks and hiccups making me wonder about my own birth, the start of my life and the fear that I wouldn't know how to be a mother because really... I didn't have one. Mine spent my adolescence and teen years drunk on the sofa from morning til.... well, morning. When she wasn't sleeping she was screaming, reminding me she could kill me, that she hated me, that my father didn't love me either; kicking at my locked bedroom door like a rabid woman, cracking the concrete wall above it.
What if I looked into the eyes of my newborn and was lost? What if I didn't have the mother gene?
Instead I looked into the eyes of my newborn and wondered if my mother ever felt what I did in that moment, wishing that she did. Did I love her back? Did I smile at her like Livi smiles at me? Did tears of sheer joy and love slide down her cheeks?
I think they did.
But, when did she stop? When was it that she started looking at me with the hate in her eyes and the grabby hands? When did she decide she didn't love me like her skin could fall off and her heart could hurt and soar and ache all at the same time?
When did I stop loving her?
I said that I would never want Livi to think of me in the same way I think of my mother. That sentence felt differently when she was a thought, a pulse of electricity and life and love on a monitor, a fetus that used my ribs as monkey bars.
That sentence feels a lot different now that I feel all these things that I wasn't expecting. These things people tell you about, this love like no other. This love that you can't put into words, but that makes you a little nauseous. I don't know if it is forgiveness that sits at the pit of my dirty little heart or maybe the hint of a decision to move on, set it all free, leave it behind.
She loved me one day and I can't help what came next.
All I know is that now I simply want to love my daughter as if my skin could fall off, my heart aching and soaring and hurting all at the same time.
The rest of it?
Well, it doesn't really matter anymore.
Good job making me tear up.
ReplyDeleteOn a lighter note, I love her fat little belly in that picture. Oh, and I haven't forgotten about your FB msg. Reply soon, I promise. :)
-Jason
Maybe the past doesn't matter; maybe all that matters is that your love for Livi is so huge, and that her love for you is equal. And that you will never make the mistakes your mother made to change that.
ReplyDeleteAnd yet, I tend to think your mother - the real one, somewhere under the alcohol - did love you that way. Alcohol changes people, changes brain chemicals. It wasn't HER that stopped feeling that way. It was the alcohol.
Not much comfort, I'm sure. The amazing thing is the way you are stopping that cycle.
Beautiful picture and beautiful post.
ReplyDeleteI remember having similar feelings after I had Anne. It was like I had been given a second change at a mother/daughter relationship. It enabled me to move on and focus on what was NOW my family--and put the past in a little box in the closet. It's still there. It's just in a better place.
(Not that my experience was anything like yours ... I hesitated to even write this, but the feelings were the same).
Kiss that baby for me.
sf
Isn't it incredible how much you can love someone? Livi's such a lucky little girl.
ReplyDeleteThis comment has been removed by a blog administrator.
ReplyDeleteSo beautiful, as always. I must agree with Heidi; somewhere under the drug, your mother loved and loves you still. And how infinitely lucky Miss Livi is to be in the arms of a woman strong enough to choose a different path.
ReplyDelete"When did she decide she didn't love me like her skin could fall off and her heart could hurt and soar and ache all at the same time?" That is gorgeous (and so are you)!
ReplyDelete*hugs you hard*