becoming a mother
November 9, 2006
Twelve years ago tonight I went to bed pregnant. It was two weeks before my due date.
I didn’t know it then, but it was my last day not a mother. A day that is only significant in retrospect. A day I spent at the mall buying clothes that seemed impossibly small from the Baby Gap.
Twelve years ago in the early morning hours before dawn my water broke while I lay in bed. I paced back and forth down the long hallway in my apartment waiting for the doctor to call me back. The contractions came one right after the other, and I focused on the tiny carseat sitting by the front door. Twelve years ago I became a mother.
Time has passed in the blink of an eye, and yet I have a hard time remembering life before this day. It seems like an eternity ago.
I look at the photo and think how young I was, how scared, how completely clueless I felt in this new role. And I look at the white couch I am sitting on, evidence of all these things, that I bought while I was pregnant. And I laugh.
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