a normal day
Thursday, September 21, 2017
On October 18th, my daughter was born and I became the mother of three children. Hundreds of miles away, on the same day, another baby girl was born and another woman added the third child to her family. We were complete strangers at that time, but our love of photography and family brought us together. We started to have a conversation about motherhood with images, because we tell stories with our cameras. Since some tales are so similar, and some are not, we decided to collaborate and share a photo a week from a normal day as a mother to three.
“Normal day, let me be aware of the treasure you are. Let me learn from you, love you, bless you before you depart. Let me not pass you by in quest of some rare and perfect tomorrow. Let me hold you while I may, for it may not always be so. One day I shall dig my nails into the earth, or bury my face in the pillow, or stretch myself taut, or raise my hands to the sky and want, more than all the world, your return.” – Mary Jean Irion
i was just about to turn at the corner. that corner that leads us out of our neighborhood. the one that takes us to the busy streets that we must travel on to get you to school. some mornings are harder than others for me to make this drive. it isn’t a long one. just an emotional one. i always wondered if i sent your siblings off into the world too quickly. you have wanted it for what seems like forever though. it is just me that is doing the feet dragging. and there is always something that i can’t live without preserving. so instead of turning at the corner, i do a u-turn. back home we go so i can retrieve my camera. so i can make sure to always remember these bittersweet morning drives. “but we’ll be late” you say. you think i am crazy. the truth is my love, i am crazy. crazy in love with you.
photo by Heather Robinson blog | Facebook
You’ve been asking us to hold you a lot lately. Asking me, especially. Hold you at the bus stop. Hold you in the kitchen. Hold you at the park. Hold you on the stairs. And I love it, but you are a big kid. No denying that. You are big and solid and my body is terribly weak and often tired. So I hold you, but not for very long. I wonder if you can sense you are entering big-kid territory, and need the extra comfort? Or now I leave for working in the mornings and our routine around the house is very different and maybe you are missing me? Maybe there is no real reason at all, except who doesn’t like to be held from time to time? If daddy is around, I pass you off, and feel a pang of guilt and a little sadness that I can’t hold you for very long. But then, I catch this face, and that smile, and I know his arms are just as good as mine. His love is just as real. And you are held, in our arms and in our hearts and in that space we create where we all can go back to fitting on someone’s hip, in someone’s arm, on someone’s shoulder.
