Camilleon

This week, my days have involved pouring myself empty. When I look in the mirror, I see the woman who poured herself empty for me. All I can think about is my mother. She must’ve had days like this, rolling in and out like tides — days when she held me close and comforted me to sleep, just as I do with Nina now. Nina will never remember these nights. Maybe one day, when she holds her own child through a restless night, she’ll ponder this, as I do now.

As tiring as these days may get, I’d choose this over and over again. I’d choose to be fully present on these dull days, when I feel I’ve accomplished nothing other than holding my feverish toddler. I like to be the one she calls a haven. On these vulnerable nights, when she’s so ill, I cherish being the one she seeks for comfort.

On one of my most vulnerable postpartum days, I called my mother and asked to inconvenience her by helping me with house chores. I profusely apologized for asking — I felt ashamed of even reaching out. As a middle child, I do not ask for favors often. She knew that my asking was rare. I grew up wanting to take things off her hands, unburdening the woman who constantly poured herself empty for others. She responded with, “I’m on my way. I like to feel needed again. This makes me feel good.”

I was gifted the privilege of becoming a mother. I got to carry my sweet girl in my womb. Now, I get to be mesmerized by her growth, by her search for independence as she slowly detaches her reliance from me. One day, I won’t be needed again, but I hope I’ll be the first person she calls when she does need help. Until my heart stops beating, I hope to be the love she rests and relies on.

Predictable, unmoving, I stand still as she bravely sprints through the stages of life. I watch in awe. I recognize myself in her, but I also see someone entirely new. She’s calculated and curious like I am, empathetic and emotionally intelligent like my mother, but also extroverted and loving like her grandmother. As our family watches her grow, we all feel my mother’s presence, quietly taking it in — the impossibility of what all this love has led us to: James, Robert, Jarob, and Nina — her grandchildren. All born for greatness, they are beams of light in this world, a legacy of kindness and bravery.

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