Every Holiday Season, I Reflect on How You Made Me a Mama

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As the holiday season rolls around, I can’t help but remember that Christmas nine years ago when my belly felt like a snow globe, ready to burst. Sleep was elusive; I couldn’t find a comfortable position. The bright, twinkling lights outside our window were blinding, and those relentless pregnancy migraines had me on edge. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and oh-so-very pregnant. But amidst all this, what loomed largest was fear. While everyone else gathered around their Christmas trees, I was unravelling inside. I kept asking myself, What have I done?

And then, under a full moon just days after New Year’s, you arrived. Just like that, I had no say in the matter: I became your mother. When the midwives placed you in my arms, you were wailing like it was your job. At that moment, you felt like a tiny alien to me, your cries reverberating against my chest, and yet, you sparkled like a star.

Learning to love you was a journey. You struggled to nurse, you resisted sleep, and at 3 a.m., as your piercing blue eyes bore into mine, I found myself whispering, I hate you. But then, when you finally drifted off to sleep on my chest, a love unlike any I had ever known ignited within me—a fierce flame that radiated from my head to my toes.

You taught me that it’s okay to love that intensely, to be overwhelmed by the very essence of that love, and even to feel resentment towards the tough moments. It’s alright to wish for a break while holding on tightly to every precious second.

Dear son, I see you now, nestled in the top bunk of your bed, engrossed in a game on your iPad. Your little brother is peacefully asleep, and it’s just the two of us, reminiscent of all those years I spent rocking you for hours because you wouldn’t settle. I carried you in a baby carrier, keeping us heart to heart as we explored the world together. Letting you go was never an option.

I’m not quite sure how we arrived at this point, where you’re now kicking me out of your bed after just a brief chat. “Just wait on the bottom bunk,” you tell me. “You can stay until I fall asleep.” So, I do. I sit there, waiting as you drift into slumber. I gaze at your sleeping form, your long legs tangled in the covers. Can it be that you’ll turn 9 next month? Where has the time flown? How many more Christmases do we have until you’re off living your own life, until we go days without seeing each other?

I know these changes will come gradually, yet in the blink of an eye, as they say. Regardless, I will always be your mama. I will always love you fiercely and continue to be amazed by the depth of that love. Each Christmas, I will reflect on the anticipation I felt waiting for the moment I would become a mother.

You made me a mama, and you will forever be my baby. For more on the journey of motherhood and resources related to pregnancy, check out this excellent source from the CDC. And if you’re curious about home insemination, consider visiting Make a Mom for insightful information on your fertility journey.

In summary, every holiday season brings back memories of my transition into motherhood, the challenges, and the profound love that blossomed in my heart. I cherish those moments, knowing that every Christmas serves as a reminder of the incredible bond we share.