Dear Natalie,
I wish I could sit you down and tell you absolutely everything about you that I admire. The other day I told Pirate "You know, people tell me that I'm the strongest person they've ever met, but I'm not the strongest person I have ever met. The strongest person I have ever met is Natalie."
Just 8 days ago I had to look you in the eye and rip away from you something that is divinely, unequivocally your right to have - a mother. I sat on your friend's front steps and looked up into your stunning little face and told you that I was going to have to go away and live with Pirate until the end of the school year. I watched your eyes well up with tears and then I watched a resolve lock into your eyes that is unrivaled by any human that I have ever seen in this earth. I tried to read into it to see if you were just burying your hurt - like I do, but that wasn't it - at least in that moment. At that moment, it was purpose. You decided in your little 8 year old heart that you were going to get through this - that you were going to survive.......and that you were going to beat this. I was blown away because you are 8. You are a kid, and I count myself really, really lucky.....because you are my kid.
Almost exactly 9 years ago I saw your heartbeat on a screen for the first time. I knew that I was pregnant because I'd taken tests that said "+", and I'd even started to get sick, but the moment that I saw that life pumping organ on the screen and knew it was yours, I was immediately filled with wonder. Every mother feels this. It's one of those moments that you realize is bigger than you, and you're just so grateful that you get to be a part of that moment. That was just the beginning.
Your daddy left for a deployment when I was about 9 weeks pregnant with you, so there were many moments that were just yours and mine. I will never forget the first time I felt you move. I will never forget feeling so incredibly beautiful my entire pregnancy because I was carrying a miracle - I was carrying and growing you. I will never forget getting my first stretch marks and then realizing that it didn't bother me to have them because it meant that this body of mine did its job. It nourished you and grew you and then came the day for me to get to hold you in my arms.
Only 5 percent of babies are actually born on their due dates. You, my dear, are in that 5 percent. At about 3:00 in the morning I woke up thinking I just had to pee really, really, really bad, but as soon as I got to the bathroom, I realized that the cramping I felt was not just a full bladder. It meant you wanted out. You were ready to take this world on.
I had raised (or helped raise) a number of babies since I was 9 years old. I felt so ready to embrace the task of having my own child. I knew how to teach a little person how to do absolutely everything, so I felt really confident that motherhood was actually just going to spoil me because I would enjoy getting to do all of these things and never have to hand you back to anyone else. You would be mine, and I would be yours. I felt so ready.....until they handed you to me. At that moment it was like I became a baby raising amnesiac. You were so perfect. You had these amazing spidery little hands and long feet and your skin was perfect. Right out the gate every single person that looked at you looked right back at me and said "Yeah she looks exactly like you." Then they would look at your daddy and say "Sorry dude. I don't see you in here at all." and then everyone would laugh a little.
You immediately proved to be an extremely smart little person. You soaked up every bit of learning that you could. You spent HOURS looking at books. Most of the time when parents miss the fact that their toddler has wandered out of the room and has found a silent spot to dwell for a while, that means something crazy is happening and there will be a mess to clean up. Not for you. That just meant that you'd found your books again. If I took 18 month old you to the toy aisle, you would disinterestedly look through the plastic windows of doll boxes, but when we got to the books, you would go crazy. "I want booksh. I want dat one, Mawmy." I caved all the time. I would buy books for you at the store. I would sign you up for free books through the mail. I would borrow them.....however I could get them, I would get them, and you would love them.
You were also very in tune with me. You seemed to understand my heart even before you were adequately able to articulate your understanding. After I got pregnant with your little brother, life for me got very heavy. It got very sad. There was someone who was being very mean to my heart. I tried to stay strong in front of you or not yell back until I knew you were asleep, but one day, I broke. I sat down on the couch with my big pregnant belly and buried my face in my hands while that mean person couldn't see me be broken. I didn't realize that you were smart enough to know that, though my face was covered, my slumped, trembling shoulders meant that I was sad. Your pixyish little self delicately stepped over to me and you placed one of your dimpled hands on my knee and said "Don't cy, Mawmy." My head rose from my hands. You had witnessed and absorbed the meaning of abuse, and instead of acting afraid or retreating to your books, you balled up and offered me your strength since you knew mine was gone in that moment. I got mad and went back to that person and screamed at "Don't you EVER make me cry AGAIN! NATALIE saw that! Don't you ever make me cry in front of my child AGAIN!". I shook my finger and had a snarl on my face. I felt a rush of strength that overcame my temporary grief. The strength had come from you. You weren't even 2 years old.
There were so, so, so many moments after that when I saw this same strength exhibited, and sometimes it made me mad again. The amount of strength that you showed was so beyond what was appropriate for your age - including a week ago. That day makes me mad too. You are losing your childhood piece by piece and some of that robbery is my fault. Some of it is not, but, as your mother, that does not matter to me. One of the last things I said before I left you was for you to go be a kid. I begged your best friend's parents to take care of you - asked her mother to be what I couldn't be right now, to hug you and to love you. They will try their very hardest. There will be other people that notice the void, and they will try to help too, but a lot of people won't see because you are just that strong. You won't let them see. You will place this trial in a little cabinet in your heart and let in sit there until you have time to open it back up and sort through it. You will absolutely lose part of your childhood, and that will cause you trouble later. You will spend years being confused about exactly who you are and what the right thing is to do with your life and your time.
That will be where I come in again. I promise to be in your life far before that day comes, but when it does, I will be there. Except I won't tell you not to cry. I will not tell you to be strong and not be a victim. I will let you be a jerk to me and everyone else, and I will tell you to celebrate absolutely anything that makes your heart smile. I will love who you love and do things with you that make no sense to me whatsoever. ......and I will help you. I will be YOUR strength when you need it. I will. I will........be your mother.
Love,
Mommy
*Though this post is written to my daughter who is now 8 years old, it is not actually something that I have any intention of her reading at this point in time or any near point in the future. Please remember that this blog is for my own catharsis, and I reserve the right to express what is actually in my heart.
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