faucet on, candle lit, window open, rain pouring.
bathtime has turned into a sort of church for me. i recline into the warm bubbles; eyes closed, breath steady, and i let my mind wander wherever it wants to.
the kids are both sleeping, gideon is out on a jog, and i am somewhere else entirely. my mind visits different memories from my life, and every now and then stops to re-center. how did i get here? here, in this perfect warm bath lit by candlelight, and accompanied by spring rainfall? how am i this old?! how do i have two children?! what have i done with my life? what am i doing with my life? how is it flying by so quickly?
my hands, resting on my abdomen notice the ever fading scar from teddy’s birth almost three years ago, and a flood of memories rush to me.
they seem more like memories from a dream and feel like much less of a big deal than they did in the actual moment. in fact, i wish i could go back to myself; sitting on that horrible hospital bed, signing papers that gave permission for a team of physicians to cut into my body to get my baby out, and tell myself what i mostly knew then, and absolutely know now.
i wish i could tell myself that my doctor made me induce way too early, and that it wasn’t my fault, and that i’d never let that happen again.
i wish i could tell myself that it was going to be very scary for a few weeks; that my baby would struggle to gain weight, and we’d have a really difficult time with breastfeeding, but he’d leave the hospital healthy and happy, and that was all that mattered.
i wish i could tell myself that it was normal to be in that much pain, (emotional and physical) and that medicine could only do so much.
i wish i could tell myself that in a little more than 2.5 years from that moment, i’d have another baby completely naturally, and it would also be incredibly painful. because that’s just how life works sometimes.
i wish i could smooth my hair out of my face, and tell myself that i was going to do my best, and even though some days it would really feel like i was incredibly bad at motherhood, i was always going to be good enough.
yes. i’d tell myself that i was enough. i was enough then, i am enough now, and i will be enough tomorrow.
and scars fade.