My daughter is now more real to me than ever.
And placing myself squarely in the running for the "strangest and worst mother of the world" award, I have started to think about how her birthday, 31 July 2013, is the first step in her march towards mortality -- mine and hers.
I am more conscious of losing time with her, each minute slipping down the proverbial hourglass until, in the ideal scenario, I am at my last conscious moment and I have to say "goodbye." I am already thinking about how her life will hopefully continue to flourish, even as she will be mature and rational enough to understand that she will be facing the same fate as me, curtailing her participation in the lives of her own loved ones at some point.
I am less sad about her eventual demise -- natural and predictable, all said and done. But it's amazing how immense joy and sadness can erupt at the same time. As I held her in my arms for the first time, impressed and frightened by her unfamiliarity, I was thinking, "Our time together is limited, little one."
And placing myself squarely in the running for the "strangest and worst mother of the world" award, I have started to think about how her birthday, 31 July 2013, is the first step in her march towards mortality -- mine and hers.
I am more conscious of losing time with her, each minute slipping down the proverbial hourglass until, in the ideal scenario, I am at my last conscious moment and I have to say "goodbye." I am already thinking about how her life will hopefully continue to flourish, even as she will be mature and rational enough to understand that she will be facing the same fate as me, curtailing her participation in the lives of her own loved ones at some point.
I am less sad about her eventual demise -- natural and predictable, all said and done. But it's amazing how immense joy and sadness can erupt at the same time. As I held her in my arms for the first time, impressed and frightened by her unfamiliarity, I was thinking, "Our time together is limited, little one."
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