As I write this, my last post as Mama Greenest, Coraline and I have just returned from a spectacular Sunday adventure and my heart is full. In exactly one week she’ll be four. I find it hard to believe that I have been writing this blog since I was pregnant! I’ve spent almost five years writing about her, and so I thought, for my last post, I’d write to her. First though, let me say thank you to all of you who have indulged my neuroses and panic and opinion by reading. Happy trails to you and yours. xo, Mama G
My Little Fish,
I am writing to you to commemorate the end of a chapter. You see, for the last four-and-a-half years, I have been writing about being your mama. I started doing this when you were still in my belly. But now, because I decided to go back to school, I’m going to stop writing about our adventures, at least for now. And this sort of thing makes a person nostalgic. Thinking back to when this journey began — a bathroom stall at Barnes & Noble where I first learned you were coming — it occurs to me that more often than not the things I wrote reflect the harder aspects of being a parent: the frustration, the anxiety, the heartache. It also occurs to me now that, should you ever come across what I’ve written (after all, things live forever on the Internet), you might worry that all I ever felt being your mama was frustration, anxiety, and heartache. So let me take this opportunity to tell you the truth: Being a mama is hard business, but you fill my heart with more joy and pride and wonder than it can hold, and so it spills over and out into the world. Being your mama has made me a stronger, more passionate person than I ever could have imagined being. I see love everywhere and in everything, because of you.
Even though I always knew you and I were meant to be together, I didn’t know who you’d be. But we have been together now for 1,453 days, and in that time I’ve learned a lot about myself, and a lot about you. As evidence to you (and to myself) that I do in fact see you, here is some of what I’ve learned:
- You are, at your core, exceedingly generous and kind.
- You see things about how other people are feeling that most people don’t. That is a gift.
- You question everything — the hows and whys — and are a natural leader.
- You hold your own, which is not easy to do.
- You are so, so brave: In just this past week you taught yourself to swim. You made up your mind to do it and tackled it with courage and patience and a sense of humor. That persistence, that tenacity, is also a gift, to you, to me, and to the world.
- You will always be alright, not because of anything I do, but because of who you are.
So while we drive each other up the wall every now and then, and I will probably always worry that I am doing this whole parenting thing wrong, sharing my life with you is Mama’s greatest honor. Thank you for choosing me, for teaching me, and loving me. You will always be my most important thing. I love you.