Wonder

A small me opened my eyeball—

like a round door—

exited down the bridge of my nose,

and onto the ground below.

Covered in soft shadows,

I walked about 8 steps, give or take.

To see what needed to be seen,

I looked up and into my own face.

With a hand and a string

I was scooped. Lifted.

Flashing:

A blinking yellow light.

Zachary starts first grade this fall.

My throat closes when I think of him taking those first steps onto the bus. I feel proud of him. Terrified, too, that I won’t be around to wrap him in the jacket of my safety.

Zoe will be in Nursery School three days a week. She is out of diapers, sleeps in a bed and puts on her own shoes.

As we steam steady towards these milestones, I take care to impart survival lessons.

I teach them how to reach out and make friends.

To ask for help.

To have fun.

To work hard.

I continue to sing songs of love at home.

Although my work with my babies is far from over, I look towards the start of the school year and see that I have time to start reacquainting myself with some work of my own.

I have spent much of the last few months exploring what that means to me. Do I want to work full time or part time? How can I construct that job around my love of writing? Is there a best platform for a portfolio?

I’ve taken my time thinking it through so that when I make my choice, I will know it is right.

When I was 25 I went through a bit of an identity crisis. I was no longer a free-spirited college girl. I was recently married, in fact. I had a fledgling career and owned a condominium outside of Boston. I had a dog. I was starting to think about thinking about children.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t given myself the space and time to figure out who I was and who I wanted to be.

Now, 9 years later, I know who I am.

But, just maybe, I am struggling still with who I would like to be.

What I would like to be.

Additionally, I spend a great deal of time thinking about the me that I want my children to know.

I want them to know me as strong; to channel some of that strength into drive of their own.

I want them to see me as a body of warmth and kindness; to both recognize and value intellect.

I want them to hold me in a place of respect.

I want them to know that the key to their home is carried safely in my heart.

That that key will always be there.

I hope that they will look back on memories of their childhood and see smiles.

I pray that they will laugh and strive to possess wit, integrity and forgiveness; open minds with willingness to explore other possibilities.

Because, when I think of the me that I want my children to know, I think of the children that I want them to be.

I have been a mother for 6 years.

I have been a working mother for half of that time; a stay at home mother for the other half.

What I’m looking to achieve now is a blend.

A healthy balance and mix.

I swear to you that I believe it is possible.

I believe it is possible because this time I’m not assigning myself a role.

I’ll just be a mother who loves my children.

And that love is visceral, constant and steady.

This fall Zachary will board a bus and Zoe will learn her letters.

I will pay attention to what comes next. I will quiet myself with the knowledge that my children take with them what I give.

I will place a calming hand on my chest as a reminder that passage of time is a wonder.

And that wonder, is worth it.