“That cry. That instantaneous fear. That adoration. That chaos of shuffling rubber-soled feet and shouting mixed with tears and congratulations. That smell of blood and latex. That pure, undying love. That child you created.
I wasn’t the first to hold her, and I wasn’t the first to sniff her head covered with white hair that resembled a ripe, Georgia peach. I wasn’t the first to see what color eyes she had and who she resembled most. I wasn’t the first to feed her or dress her in warm cotton. I wasn’t the first voice she heard, but I was the first to feel the flutter of her heartbeat and the bubbling hiccups. I was the first to carry the fear of being her mother, and I was the first to love her.
Those holds become few and far between as the lap grows too small. That peach fuzz turns into golden strands of silk that remind you of your favorite childhood doll. Those eyes grow bigger and more wise. Those late night feedings, and the warm swaddles of cotton turn into independence. The heartbeat that you could once feel inside of you, turns into a distance pulse that is only felt with a long hug after playing hard on the playground at school. Of all that fades, it is the fear that stays. With that fear is love.
To be a mother, means to hold fear and love for the rest of your life.”
To Be a Mother, Faith Barnett, 2019
