My life is all about a ‘Lily’

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In the eight months since I became a mother to a beautiful, laughing, bright-eyed little girl, I’ve found that life is all about balance. In the months since the doctors pulled her tiny, wiggling body from my belly on the coldest day of the year and she let out two quick cries, forever embedding in me the sound of her voice, my life has been consumed with her smiles, changing her diapers, washing her bottles and peppering her face with as many kisses as she’ll tolerate.

Her name is Lilith Winter, “Lily” for short, and she is my life now. I’ve always had a fondness for the motherhood quote by Elizabeth Stone which says “Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide to forever have your heart go walking around outside your body.”

I realized the full weight of Stone’s words the first day I handed my child over to our daycare provider, feeling the last touch of her little hands and soft skin fade away as I walked out the door to my car, in tears, and drove to work. That was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, and it gets harder each day. Every day she becomes more aware, develops more personality, and realizes in the morning when I struggle with the diaper bag and my purse slung over one shoulder, my orange juice and my car keys gripped in one hand and her sitting precariously on my hip, that I’m preparing to leave her for the next eight hours.

Our lives are consumed with this little being’s every desire and need. Her every facial expression breaks and fills my heart simultaneously, the way her long, wispy hair, which grows redder by the day, passes over her bright, brown eyes as she smiles broadly, the dimple on her right cheek showing her enthusiasm for whatever has captured her unwavering attention — most often, her toes, fingers, or any beaded necklace I’ve chosen to wear.

Our home is filled with her noise, her toys, and as rock erodes away for a stream to flow around it, so do we move when she calls. Prior to her existence our lives and home were merely filled with our friends and family, our hobbies and our jobs, and most prominently from day to day, our two dogs and three cats. Back then, the animals were allowed to peruse the furniture for the perfect napping spot, and when we returned home, the places where they spent the afternoon snoozing in the sun would be marked with their fine, ever-present hair.

Thus, just as our lives have changed dramatically, so have theirs. No longer are Venus and Atlas allowed to lie on top of or around each other on the end of the couch, like interlocking puzzle pieces, each one the other’s half. No more are cats lining the top of the couch, periodically nuzzling the back of the head of that cushion’s occupant.

Today I can often be found vacuuming, sweeping and washing every floor and piece of fabric to keep their hair at a minimum, so when the baby rolls across the floor, like a little, chattering barrel with legs, she grabs only toys and not hair or mud left from dog paws trampling through the house.

I must admit, I miss my animals. I miss lying on the couch with at least two cats on my lap and one behind my head, as Venus, my constant companion, perches her blond head on my thigh, eternally, deeply grateful for any passing pat I give her.

Unbeknownst to them, all five animals entered a strict boot camp when this little being came home to live with us. Their every bark is reprimanded at all times, but especially during nap time, they are all sent scurrying away from baby toys and are prevented from wrestling and stampeding through the house, as if they were joyously on a cattle drive. We now must find the money during tight times to not only feed them but also place on the grocery list the exorbitantly priced formula and diapers.

My life is wrapped up in balance and schedules, remembering things I’m not to forget, and carving out some little bit of solace, some peace for my brain to decompress. Every once in awhile I have a heart-stuttering moment when I realize from this day forward my life will always be what it is now, only compounded by more obligations and probably more children.

But, my spirit is calmed and my apprehension eased when I see my daughter smile, and I realize everything I do each day is all to make her happy. I’m happy with the choices I’ve made because they led me to her, and she is my heart.

Jessica Gray is a correspondent columnist for the BCR. She can be reached at anmlhouse5@live.com.