Not writing this for my baby Anne, truly. This is one of those letters I have been meaning to write on behalf of myself. Entitled, perhaps, but true. I have voices to share.
Somewhere in between parenting my baby, perhaps during her sleep sessions, during midnight pumping sessions which I am slowly getting used to skipping because every four hours seem to earn me nothing but another sleepless night instead of sufficient volume, while still worrying whether the stash would ever feel enough, or during her playtime with whoever happens to be helping me that day, this becomes that kind of letters (jumbled, tangled, raw).
This year has surely been transformative for me and such a defining one for my baby.
As her birthday approaches, I find myself losing the appetite for any sort of fancy celebration planning. I mean, sure, surviving a whole year together means the world to me, but have I not messed up so many times already? Even just thinking about not wanting to “mommy” sometimes feels wrong. The audacity of admitting that I was tired still fills me with guilt. There is always a voice in my head reminding me that I could have done better, but well, here we are anyway.
At the same time, I am truly and deeply happy watching a happy baby whose joy often requires nothing difficult and sometimes no reason at all. I cherish her milestones, her happy little sounds, her laughter, her cheering, and simply her existence altogether.
On the very same day, she can also be unbearable, yet somehow a day no longer feels complete without her in it. Just recently, I realized that she is the only person who has seen me every single day for an entire year. No one else has. We are simply inseparable.
Am I still adjusting? Absolutely. No day looks exactly like the one before. She has become like a season to me. I may know that something is coming around the corner, but when it arrives always remains a mystery, sudden, blurry, and undefined.
Thinking about what gift I should prepare for her new age feels strangely distant to me because what could possibly be better than becoming more present in her moments, more prepared, more knowledgeable, and more patient as a mother?
She deserves healthy circumstances, support that encourages her to try things, a safe environment, and an abundance of love because she carries the essence of what it means to be human, someone brought into life through love that was spent wholeheartedly.
Still, let us cherish and remain thankful for the ways people interpret their love through the gifts they give on your birthday.
A simple passage to my baby starts here
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My dear baby, as you welcome your new age, I am here trying to become better. I wish you nothing but goodness, care, and love from everyone around you. I promise you that every time I leave home, every moment spent away from you for a while would only ever be for good reasons, for you, for us, because otherwise, it would never be worth it.
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& it ends here
And suddenly, this letter ends up being written while we are apart, at my messy work desk, somewhere in between buying telur gulung and a pumping session while waiting for my laptop to boot up.
Cheers to another year and to everyone who helped make it happen,
Me—-mio
