Not your birthday, no – that’s not the day I can never forget.
Not your birthday, no – it’s the day after.
March 3rd was excruciatingly slow and extremely fast all at the same time.
The deep breaths, the first time I heard you cry, your dad’s magical eyes when you appeared. They all passed by way too fast yet, in those moments, painfully slow.
The day after is another story. When all the rushing, sighs, and urgency had subsided – all that was left was you and I. Just us.
We were not physically connected anymore but I could feel your every breath and catch your every glance.
The two of us just sat there mourning the intertwinement which lasted nine months and too exhausted to think of the next chapter.
March 4th will forever be a day I hold onto. The day I quenched my profound curiosity about what you look and sound like.
The day I took it all in, your every move. The softness and fragility of each moment I held you in my arms. The day I was no longer a woman expecting or a woman in labour. The day I was officially “mom”.
Faye Milan’s mom.
The rawness of how reality washed over me. The unmatched sense of responsibility. My immediate protectiveness. My immense love.
That was the day you became my every moment’s thought. My newfound purpose.
The day I learned that I can be replaceable in every role in life except two: mother and daughter.
Happy birthday golden eyes, mommy’s own little universe.