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
you are like the spring after a long, cold winter. i carry a lot of stress around with me. sometimes it gets so heavy, i feel like i can not move. like i am in a coma. when i get weighted down like this, i am not able to enjoy you and your sisters like i want to, need to. but you don’t give up on me. you grab my hand pull me up from my slumber and we run. the wind in our hair, your laughter in my ears, and a love so big my heart will surely explode.
photo by Heather Robinson
Lately I have been noticing just how wonderful seven is. It is so different. Child-like but also on the verge of a new stage in childhood. Deeper, introspective, smart. You get more of my jokes. You make your own and they are gut-busters. This vacation has been so fun with you. You move independently and beautifully, but every so often as we watch you run or skip, I see the small child’s movements in the bigger child’s grace.
photo by Olivia Gatti of Click Click Love
i couldn’t make this up even if i tried. every single day with you is surreal. you are by far one of the most fascinating people i have ever met. today it stormed. you wanted to watch the rain. so i opened the front door and let you stand on the porch. you were ecstatic. you grabbed your guitar and began playing a song with the thunder. like i said. surreal.
be sure and head over to the Muse Memoirs blog to see what the rest of the ladies shared this week.
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
there are moments when i look out and see all three of you before me. no one is crying. no one is bickering. no one is trying to pile toys on top of the baby. you are all safe, healthy, happy, nourished, clean. well, the clean part might be a bit of a stretch. but you are all okay. i am okay. we are making it. in this moment, i click the shutter, exhale, and smile.
photo by Heather Robinson
Last night, after a long day of travel, you cried like you have never cried before. In fact, you so seldom cry, more like complain, and are so easily soothed, that last night I felt a real fear and panic that something was seriously wrong. You couldn’t be consoled and it broke my heart. And we were so far from home . . . Luckily, it was just your way of decompressing, and you finally fell asleep and through the night and woke up just as lovely as ever. Even after raising two babies before you, I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing; you can still surprise and scare me. Let’s not do it again for awhile though, ok?