Early hours of the morning. I am the only one truly awake – as per usual when we, as a family, take things slow. I heard my son stir thirty minutes ago, and it shook me completely out of my ability to return to the calm corners of sleep, sure he was ready to begin his day and that my duties as mother would begin. I dare not leave the bed for a few moments of my own, for fear of waking the others in the process. 

So, I sit in the dark, and I scribe this on my phone.

And hear him call for me. 

“Mama… Mama… Mama? Mama.”

I taught him this: to sit up in his bed and say my (reborn) name when he is ready to wake up and start his day. I also made a promise to myself that it is a call I would never ignore.

Socks on. Nudge the husband. “I’m up,” he says, only half-convincingly. He’s got breakfast duties. He has his role to fill in the mornings, too. He is also the provider of my warm cup o’Joe that helps me kickstart my day. He is the bringer of mana. He is essential.

And so begins another day as mom. Another opportunity to see how he has grown overnight. Another chance to see what surprises and learning emerge as the hours roll by.

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A moment’s pause.
Baby sleeps in the car seat and my husband runs errands so we don’t wake him.
A moment’s pause.
I’m disconnected in this part of our town and it forces me to embrace stillness and solitude, so I open my Note’s application.
A moment’s pause.
He stirs a little and sighs in is sleep and I’m overcome with an adoration of his angelic state.
A moment’s pause.
The day has already been long and it’s only 13h45 – but it’s okay, because it’s another day with him.
A moment’s pause.
Deep sense of gratitude and appreciation for the opportunity to be fatigued thanks to this gift.
A moment’s pause where I count my tired and lucky stars.

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When the fog pours over the tops of the mountains I wonder if it is the cloud touching the mountain top or the mountain top touching the cloud. Is there a difference or is it one and the same? How often do we also downplay our successes and the feats of motherhood due to (semantics), elitism, external judgment? How often do we shrug off what so many do not have the strength to handle just because it comes “standard” with the title of “mom”? We are touching clouds – or the clouds are touching us – it doesn’t matter: we are doing so much.

We are magic.

xx C