When I was pregnant, it seemed to me that there was one irrefutable truth: my body, not my mind, knew how to develop this baby and it knew how it was going to get it out. No manner of intellectualizing was going to change how my body would labour and birth my baby. It was totally out of my hands.
Even with my oldest, dearest friend I’m aware of holding back as I listen to her most recent progress report — she and I are at different places on the continuum of becoming a mother.
I see celebrations as a way to recognize something special, as well as an excuse to make some happy memories. When each of my kids turned one, I wanted to celebrate that miracle milestone of landing on the shores of toddlerhood. But let’s be clear, it was also a party for me! Making it through the pregnancy and the first year was a watershed experience for me — both times. I was completely shocked by the skin I had to shed to commit myself to mother in the only way I could conceive possible: consciously, with my eyes wide open.