I’m at my parent’s house now for the second part of our Christmas travels and, lying in the bath tub this morning, I thought about where I was this time last year.
I was celebrating my sister’s birthday while having the start of my contractions. Thinking about all that was to come ahead, relieved that the wait was finally over.
I’m so glad that this time last year I had enjoyed my final non-mothering days – planned trips to the cinema, laid in as long as I wanted, gone out for meals with my husband, wrote, read, met up with friends, spent time with my family.
Time I cherished instead of constantly willing Jenson to make his arrival.
But now a year has passed and I’m a few hours away from my son becoming one.
What a huge milestone, the marking of a year with him.
I don’t think I could have ever imagined what was in store for me this time last year.
I didn’t know what was awaiting me as I went into the 15 hour labour and birth of my son. The NCT classes didn’t come close to describing the experience.
The pain, the effort, the fear, the gritting of my teeth to push through it, the vulnerability, the need I felt for my husband, the strength I felt in being capable of birthing my son, the crowning(!) – that pain has not receded into the faint echoes of my memory!!!
And nothing could have prepared me for what the next year would look like.
A year of protecting and nurturing my son.
A year where I’ve put everything aside to look after him.
A year for me of growing and learning, crying and laughing, making friends and letting some fade, travelling and staying put, becoming more myself and putting myself on the back burner to care for Jenson.
A year of extremes and paradoxes.
Experiencing depths of love I never thought imaginable and being stretched so thin I thought at points that I would break.
It’s indescribable, this first year of motherhood.
One thing is clear, it feels like so much longer than just one year and yet it has passed in a blink of an eye.