I am right now sitting in the Seattle airport with a sleeping nearly eight month-old pinned like a happy starfish to my front. The two of us are returning home from a trip to northern California, a full, fun few days with people we love deeply. It was my first trip away from Margot for more than one night and my first trip away from my oldest as in it takes a plane to get here. It was also the first time Ruby and Margot have been apart for days and the first time Andy has had Margot for days without me. Huh. I didn’t think any of these firsts would be a big deal and they aren’t but they kinda are.
my wee Ruby napping during a layover (a great time to write mama digs...)
All these firsts were orbiting around my brain like no-big-deal and then, as I FRANTICALLY packed every possible combination of clothing for rainy and cold, sunny and hot, foggy and damp and coolish but warm for a baby and an adult, all these emotions hit me. Like, how wrong and weird it felt to separate our little family unit by 1000 miles. What if…
I was inclined to focus on the positive aspects like how cool it is that my two and a half year-old has such an amazing relationship with her papa and how fabulous it was to get Ruby all to myself. How great it is that I am comfortable traveling solo with my babe and Andy is comfortable hanging solo with my bug. And while all of that is very true and tidy and lovely, there are these horrid, morbid, embarrassing things I thought about too.
I think about death more than I used to.
The instant I became a mama, I inherited a shmorgishborg of crazy thoughts. I knew going in that with all the soul-changing love there was also the heartache, the worry, the fear. But I am just so not one to go there unless a situation really merits it. In general, my day-to-day, I find my thoughts in the here, the beauty, the heartbeats. It surprised the shit out of me when I thought about the man on the Higgins Bridge grabbing my baby off of me and tossing her in the river or the woman at the market snatching her and running away into traffic. What is that? And when did I get so dark and creepy?
I think all of me stretched when I grew and birthed a person. My capacity for love and worry, happiness and despair. It’s all bigger and deeper. And so while my imagination can spin billowing tapestries of rainbows and tall flowers it can also spin over-starched tapestries of shadows and gnarled roots. There’s more to consider and more to imagine.
The day Ruby and I left the Missoula ground and the other half, I kissed Margot and Andy with extra intention, memorizing their smells. I allowed myself to acknowledge the tall flowers and the gnarled roots. It’s all we can do, right? We just keep living our life big, aware of our mortality and driven by breaths and hugs. I think about death more than I used to and I also think a lot more about Life.
just before the final leg of our adventure
A fourth generation Montanan raising a fifth, Nici Holt Cline is a mama to Margot and Ruby, wife, gardener, crafter and runner who loves to write and take photos. She writes regularly on her popular blog dig this chick. You can read “Mama Digs” every Monday exclusively at www.mamalode.com. Read more of Nici’s mamalode articles here.
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Oh……the worries of motherhood. You did indeed inherit your thoughts. I remember the first trip we took, on a plane for one week without you two…..I was a mess. I told my mother, (who came to take care of you), that I thought I should take you & your brother with us in case we crashed so you would not be without me. She told me that was the most selfish thing she had ever heard….but that’s how I felt. It may be “dark and creepy” to some but to me it is the overwhelming love between mother and child. The force of this kind of love is one to be reckoned with. xoxo
I have those crazy morbid thoughts too. My husband took our two year old out onto the third floor balcony of his downtown Missoula office building earlier this summer. I still can’t get that image out of my head…all the what ifs. I can picture my husband leaning too far over or my daughter squirming out of his arms.
Nici, your writing is like a song. Thank you for telling your stories and being so honest, and real. I’m curious about how motherhood changes women. This week I’m half way into Love in the Time of Colic. There are definitely changes! It is a delight to read the experience of someone who appreciates the positive change, like a deeper life, without denying the darker changes. Thanks again for sharing! I dig it!