Motherhood Uncensored

I dreamed a dream.

Lately, I've become acutely aware that Bridget is my last baby.

Overnight she went from little blob to full fledged being, with the nerve to start pulling up on whatever she can balance with.

Steady or not, here she comes.

She somehow gets to her feet after crawling wildly around the floor, putting food, toy, and tissue paper, in her mouth.

Too busy to nurse or even let me hold her unless she's asleep.

As much as my tough labor and challenging baby made me say I'd never do it again, all it took was an easy labor, guest bed or not, and a happy baby for me to wish that it would ever end.

The coos and giggles. The innocent bliss.  They're a veritable fountain of youth. And I want to bathe in it. Drink it up.

Her cheeks. Her constant smile.

Her two tiny teeth that will soon be joined by a mouthful. 

As much as I hated babydom seven years ago, I love it.

Quinlan will be seven this summer. Drew is four. Margot is two. And a half.

The only solid memory I have left as them as babies is here on this blog. In a bunch of scattered pictures and digital photos on cds and flash drives. My journaled scrawlings of their milestones - most of Quinlan's, some of Drew's, none of Margot's.

And in Bridget.

I remember them through her.

As she grows up, the baby memories wane. Her milestones are their milestones, fresh in my mind for just a little bit longer, until they are all but gone, prompted only by a photograph. A video stuffed deep in a cabinet.

A sweet or funny story that I've written here.

And in other babies that aren't mine.

I don't mourn Bridget's babydom as much as I mourn those precious moments from all my children, four babydoms slowly disappearing right before my very eyes, turning from reality into a memory that I'm barely grasping at now.

What will it become in a year? In five years?

I know, I know. The best is yet to come.

A small consolation for growing old.

But whoever said that didn't have a baby.

This baby

And three other little children soon leaving childhood, and their mother, behind. Left to wonder if all this really did happen. Or if it was just a dream.

A glorious, miraculous dream.

Bridget - 6 months & 7 months (She is soooo the 4th child. Sorry kid).

 

The house stuck in time

It's been a year since I've been home, which is enough time for me to forget why my visits are so infrequent.

My mom still sits on the couch my father sat on, hunched over a bucket as he drooled out of his mouth after his tongue was removed from cancer.

She eats off the kitchen table where my sister first pulled up to standing.

Everywhere I turned I saw photographs of my sister at the same age that my youngest daughter is now.

I know now why Bridget's smile and bright eyes are too familiar to me. She is fair, like my sister. Her eyes are almond shaped, but light - a confusing but mesmerizing combination, like my sister.

And so far, she's leaning towards being a lefty.

Like my sister.

As I ran through the neighborhood, I thought about visiting her, but I knew I wouldn't have time so I did it in my mind. I saw a snapshot of her small gravestone as if I was standing right there.

Deanna Lin Chase

August 27, 1979 - May 8, 1980

I picked the weeds and laid flowers by her name. And I apologized for not getting there sooner.

Maybe it's hormones. Maybe it's because I'm a mother now. Maybe it's because losing a sibling just plain sucks. Always.

When I got home I scooped Bridget up in my arms and took her to my room. As we passed the lifesize picture of my sister that hangs in our hall, she reached out to her.

And she smiled like she knew her well.

 

And so they grow

Bridget - 5 months