The fall and rise

Balance is hard to find these days. Your feet get steadier by the day, but every so often you fall. Hard. Square on your butt. And you scare yourself with the sudden change in perspective. Sometimes you will cry and crawl to Dad or I. Other times, you will find some steady piece of furniture to pull up on and continue on your merry way.

One of my most vivid memories from your birth was the pre-epidural contractions I felt. I stood, rooted in my hospital booties to the cold tile floor and found a steady piece of furniture to hold on to through a pain I had never before felt. I was being torn in two from the inside out. I could feel my body trying to make room for you, trying to help birth you. But in that moment, I know I fought it. I fought the splitting. And then when you were born, I fell. Hard. Square on my butt. And you scared me with the change you brought in my perspective on life. On myself. On others. On love.

It still leaves me feeling unbalanced sometimes. Still - after over a year of changes. I still feel split to the core at times. In the moments when I want to crawl away, you manage to surprise me with a hug (a genuine hug! by my child!) or a smile or a quizzical look as you try to fit the square block into the round hole. You give me just the thing I need to pick myself back up.

And as I watch you toddle away, you remind me that balance is not static. It is a constant process of falling, square and hard, and rising, continuing on our merry way.