Birthdays are the happiest of occasions. Everyone says so. Friends, family members and loved ones fall over themselves sending congratulatory notes and well-wishes commemorating the day we were born.
Yet as my daughter’s eighth birthday approaches, I can’t help but feel a little blue. Of course I’m happy to celebrate the fact that she's growing into an independent, smart, snarky little girl, but each passing year is also a reminder that her childhood is going by fast and, no matter how tightly I try to hold on, time is slipping from my grasp.
The day she was born was the happiest day of my life. I think. Thanks to a C-section, several complications and morphine drip, I was robbed of a blissful birth experience and any emotion I might have felt that day. A tumor took up most of the real estate in my uterus leaving no room for my baby, so she was born with hip dysplasia and torticollis. For her birthday, she received a constricting brace that kept her in a frog-like position for months; I got a couple of surgeries and a severe case of helicopter-parentitis.
I've wanted to be a mom for as long as I can remember. There has not been a moment since my daughter breathed her first breath that my world didn’t revolve around her. The bond of motherhood is strong as it is, but because we started out unwell together and because she will forever be my only child, I hold on tightly and savor every second.
Two Moms, One Title
Sharing the “Mom” title with my partner is an unusual dynamic.
When my daughter was born, the laws in New York required us to do a second parent adoption if we wanted to ensure all family protections were in place. Meaning, I had to sign away all my rights and readopt my own child, together with my partner. The original birth certificate was taken away – the one where it clearly stated I was her mother – and in its place came a new one listing me as Parent A and my partner as Parent B. Although it was just a piece of paper and it had to be done, I was devastated. After all I went through to bring my baby into the world, my Mom title had been legally stripped.
Voluntarily giving up half the title was not easy to do either. While my partner is an excellent parent, and her devotion, love and care is equal to mine, it was a bitter pill for me to swallow. Our daughter looks much more like her than me – a fact little old ladies in the grocery store are always pointing out while I sheepishly read the National Enquirer and pretend not to listen – which I’m positive is my penance for being so selfish.
Goodbye Baby, Hello Little Girl
I am reminded of these things on her birthday and they make me melancholy; but then the pendulum swings the other way and I am overcome by new joys.
Gone are the nights the two of us spent rocking each other to sleep in her rose-colored nursery tucked away from the rest of the world, true. But in their place are pillow fights, bedtime stories and insightful conversations.
Gone are pacifiers and diapers and baby blankes and teddy bears and squeaky-voiced songs about the alphabet, numbers and colors; in their place are beads and baubles and dolls and science projects and book reports about Rebel Girls.
Gone are the days I could dress her in any outfit I wanted and had the answers to all her questions; in their place is a little fashionista who is schooling me all on her own.
While I’m mourning the loss of my sweet little baby, I’m equally in love with the strong-willed creative thinker who sprouted up in her place. The one who can make me belly laugh by prancing around the house in her underwear and cowgirl boots, the one who is not afraid to bust out dance moves no matter who is watching, the one who sings at the top of her lungs to anyone who will listen, the one who is kind to insects and animals, the one who started her own charity in memory of a friend, and the one who makes me more compassionate and human and giving, simply because I want her to grow up in a better world.
The bittersweet challenge of motherhood is learning to let go and enabling our children to fly on their own. It is not easy, but I'm trying. On this birthday, I'll eat an extra slice of cake, shed a tear with the other Mom and brace myself for whatever changes the next 365 days may bring.
by Cynthia Gunnells
March 15, 2017