A New Season

I emptied out the contents of my hospital bag today.

There’s snow on the ground.

My son was born in early July.

I pulled out the giant maxi pads they sent home with me and threw them in my bedroom garbage can. I folded floral nursing nightgowns and placed them gently in a donation bag on the floor. I took the dry shampoo I never even used and set it in the medicine cabinet in our upstairs bathroom.

Then, I picked up my son, pressed him tightly against the spot in between my chin and my belly button where he perfectly fits, and cried until my tears fell on the soft spot on his little head.

A season in my life has ended and it is equally beautiful and breathtaking. It literally has taken my breath, much like a solemn goodbye to a lifelong friend.

I don’t have a newborn anymore.

Because my children have a mother of “advanced maternal age” and because daycare for two babies costs more than a mortgage, we will most likely be a family of four.

And the thought that I’ll never have another baby gently placed on top of my heart in that space between my chin and my belly button makes me breathless.

My tears continue to fall as I recall those two hospital stays in July where God made me a mother and realize that two of the very best days of my life have already happened.

When Mark Meyer brushed my teeth for me after I vomited from exhaustion and epidural.

When the nurses wrapped my babies so tightly in their little swaddle blankets and delivered them to me in my hospital bed like I knew what to do with them.

When a CRNA stood beside me during my c-section with Maverick and softly narrated each step, giving me the security I longed for.

When Mark and our baby and I began our lives as a family in a secluded little room with a whiteboard that read, “Mom: Sarah Baby: Maeve,” and a mini-fridge from which Mark delivered me Diet Pepsi and tuna salad sandwiches.

I waited my whole life to have that damn white board say “Mom: Sarah.”

On my college graduation, Mr. Goodman, my best friend’s father, interviewed each of the roommates and asked us where we saw ourselves at 25.

My roommates were on their way to becoming doctors and lawyers and were talking about med school and law school plans.

I know exactly what I said. And I’ve never even seen the actual tape. In cap and gown, standing on the lawn of a slummy Ann Arbor college house, I replied, “By the time I’m 25, I’ll have found my soulmate and I’ll have kids.”

I was 21.

And clearly didn’t own a crystal ball. Lord knows I hadn’t the slightest idea that it would take me ten more years and match.com to enter the next season.

God had other plans for me. It wasn’t my season then.

I realized today as I emptied the contents of my hospital bag that my life seasons are reminiscent of traditional ones.

My winter was long and barren. It was the death of a parent and the hibernation of self and the search for my partner.

My spring was so lovely and quick. It was falling in love and bringing my babies Earthside and finding my voice.

Now, while I press my Maverick against my chest, wishing time would stand still as Michigan winter approaches, my personal summer is here.

I am a mother now and I will remind myself to bask in the sunlight which these babies have brought to my life.