Getting Closer
The total eclipse and one year as a mother of two
This week, my baby turned one. We started the week with a wild adventure, driving six hours to Ohio to witness the total solar eclipse. The event happened on my dad's birthday, and he and my older brother had been planning a trip around it for months. While initially, I wondered if the drive would be worth it with two small children, we ultimately decided we couldn't miss the opportunity to celebrate my dad and witness such a unique event.
To say it was worth it feels like an understatement; it was the most incredible natural experience I have witnessed. More shocking than the northern lights, more otherworldly and unexpected than shooting stars or wild windstorms. In some ways, it felt like all of those things mixed into one. The light shifted as the moon moved in front of the sun, turning amber and unsaturated, darkness slowly creeping in until the last moment when the moon blocked the sun, and the darkness came over us like a wave. We all yelled then as if we were being pulled into something or something was being pulled over us. Even our yells felt like they crescendoed with the darkness, a wave of noise surrounding us.
A few days later, back at home, my baby turned one, a moment that feels both as worthy of celebration as this natural phenomenon and also wildly mundane. We spent her birthday running errands, making food, and playing with her older brother. As I put her to bed at night, I kissed her cheeks, told her I loved her, and did my best to soak in the moment: my baby is now more toddler than baby. She wiggled around and started babbling, with no concern for the experience I was trying to have. I laughed and let her down to crawl around more; it seemed she wasn't quite ready for bed.
Last fall, we went to Tim’s Grandma’s 90th birthday party, her last birthday before she died a few months later. At her birthday party, as at every other gathering when we were together, she held my baby and cooed over her, saying, "You just gotta love 'em. You can't help but spoil them."
That moment reminded me of my son's first Thanksgiving. He was six weeks old, and I had worn a dress that was not breastfeeding-friendly (rookie mistake), so I had to hide in a back bedroom and completely remove it to feed him. As I sat in the dark room in just my tights and a bra, Tim's Grandma walked in. I was a little embarrassed but quickly realized she didn't notice my lack of clothes. "This is the most beautiful thing in the world," she said of me feeding my son, and she sat next to me on the bed and watched.
Grandma Norma's perspective feels so valuable to me. I think of it often during the random nights of endless wakeups or an extra difficult day when my older child needs extra connection. Her only parenting advice was to hold my babies "and just love 'em." If at 90 years old she looked back on her time of raising eight babies and missed the snuggles she gave so freely, I imagine no amount of being close to my children will ever be enough.
When our son was still a baby, a neighbor couple asked us if we were sleeping. We answered, "Yes because he sleeps right next to us." They smiled knowingly and told us their children, who are now all grown, slept with them, too, and they loved every minute.
As I am raising my second baby, I am more aware of how fast things change. How the first baby who once wouldn't sleep alone for more than thirty minutes grows to become a boy who helps pick up sticks in the yard before his sister's birthday party, who can dress himself, clear his plate, and yes, sleep on his own most of the night. I imagine a few more years down the road, he won't want us to come snuggle him at all, and I can only imagine how much I will miss his arms around my neck.
The baby is speed-crawling now and will soon be walking. Most of the time, she follows after Tim or me, often wanting to be held, or at least just wanting to be a part of whatever we are doing. Everything takes longer because of this. For most of her life up until this last week, Tim and I would pass her back and forth as she slept on us in the evenings, one of us doing laundry or dishes while the other put their feet up, drank some tea and snuggled a baby. What a dream.
This week, while the kids and I were traveling to see the total solar eclipse, Tim painted their room, set up a bunk bed for our son, and turned his old convertible twin bed back into a floor bed for the baby. Now, in the evenings, we put her in her "big girl bed." She likes it much more than a crib, and our evenings are suddenly spent alone again as both kids sleep. Yes, the baby will wake up after an hour or two and will want to come to bed with me, but this longer stretch of sleep is such a shift and signals what feels like the end of her babyhood.
It has been four-and-a-half years since I became a mother. One year of mothering two. I have so much to learn. I am working to be better at asking for help, not just when I need childcare but also when facing something that feels like a problem to be solved. I have recently become friends with some moms whose kids are older, and I am already grateful for their shared advice. Already, they've listened to my accounts of misadventures at preschool. They nod knowingly, offering no quick fixes. Instead, their responses are often, "I remember that," "it changes so quickly," or "you'll continue to encounter that." Most notably, I have heard more than one of these moms tell me that "surrender" is the only way to approach our role as parents, and I cling to that word in the moments that feel hardest.
This short time as a parent has taught me that, usually, the best thing to do is get closer. Get closer to the baby: let her fall asleep while nursing, curled up beside me if that works–it won't be this way forever. Get closer to my child: let the dishes sit in the sink longer so we can draw together. Get closer to other mothers: they have a wealth of knowledge and know the difficult act of sitting in discomfort well. Get closer to older generations: they remind you of what is important.
My hope is that all this closeness now will keep us close as the years go by and that my children will trust that no matter what time of day or where we are, we will always make room for them.
Today we are celebrating our one year old with a small party. Perhaps I’ll have the sacred moment I need, where I am able to full soak in how incredible it is that I have been mothering two children for a year. Or maybe the day will be chaos, and I’ll get to the end of the day and be overwhelmed by the whirlwind of it. Either way, we’ll be together.
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Swim Club
We are swimming at 2pm tomorrow Sunday, April 14, at Empire Beach! This is one of our last organized swims of the season! I’m not sure if we’ll do a warm weather swim club this summer. Let me know if you’re interested in the comments!
I hope you have a wonderful weekend!
Cheers,
Mae
Thank you for this reminder of getting closer and the natural magic of parenting. Happy birthday to your family 🤍