I Believe I Can Fly


Dear diary,

I have been remiss in writing to you, and for that I apologize. However, I have learned how to crawl, stand up, and cruise the furniture, and along with patrolling the perimeter of my house for wayward objects like carpet fibers and the dog water dish I am now responsible for checking where mama is fifty times. Per hour. It’s exhausting, really.

This week mama and I went to something she called a park. I’m confused by this since we park every time she puts me in my chair in the car, but mama assures me it’s two different things. She said something about an article of speech but I couldn’t listen because I was trying to eat some wood chips. Why are they called chips if I’m not supposed to eat them?

Anyway, while we were at these “parks” all week mama did the most amazing thing: she let me fly. Diary, she put me in this black thing that was kind of like jumpy and then she pushed it and let go and I FLEW. I was so excited I didn’t know where to look. First I tried looking at mama but she was dodging in and out of my view so that didn’t work. Then I tried looking up at the sky but my head kept flopping around. Eventually I decided to watch the shadow baby who was flying alongside me. He was in the delicious wood chips and we laughed while we flew. I hope that I can fly again soon.

Diary, I know I haven’t written enough lately, but there are lots of things I want to tell you that have happened, so maybe I can try to write them up soon,

Flying like a superhero,

P.S. Diary, mama says she wants to write something in you. While I feel this is wildly inappropriate and a gross invasion of my privacy, I’ve decided to let her do it just this once because she gave me a pizza crust to eat tonight and I feel like I owe her. You can find what she has to say below:

This will be my first year celebrating Mother’s Day as a mama. I consider myself incredibly lucky to get to parent a kid like Finn who makes me laugh every day and challenges me to challenge him. Even on the hardest days (and during the often harder nights) I remind myself what a miracle he is.

Words fail me a bit here, but I feel strongly that I want to write something about this so bear with me, if you will.

Motherhood is something many women take for granted. They were surprised to learn they were pregnant, or they knew it was just a matter of course to become so. They love their children, of course, but sometimes I think that women for whom motherhood comes easily take for granted the amazing confluence of events that makes that baby, grows it, and gives birth to it.

Some of us have to fight for motherhood. What seems like a basic part of a woman’s life can turn into an intensely personal, and often too private, struggle. It can last for months. It can last for years. For some it lasts forever. Many women feel shamed by the struggle. Feel like they have failed at such a simple task.

However you come to motherhood, whenever you do, if you ever do, try to step back for a moment on Mother’s Day. Amid the scattered toys and the Cheerio dust, and the to-do list that never gets shorter, and the baby that sometimes clings to your legs like lichen and shrieks if you try to extricate yourself for a moment, and the feeling that no matter what you do it’s not enough. And and and. Step back, if you can, and survey the landscape: you have made a miracle. You make miracles every day for the baby or babies in your life – no matter their age. It’s an extraordinary thing to grow yourself as you grow your baby. And today I am looking at my miracle, who in sleep is possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, and I am thankful for a made-up holiday that serves to remind me how special this is.