My baby is turning seven.
Something about the first baby's birthday is sacred to a mama. It was there, in that hospital room, that my identity was transformed. I went from Sara to mama, a being I didn't know I had in me, one that holds in the need to pee for fear of waking the newborn asleep on her chest, one that thinks in terms of naptimes and bedtimes (and they aren't your naptime or bedtime) a being that without hesitation hands the last sip of orange juice to her 4 yr old, who needs some juice bad mama.
It is sacred.
An identity that so many shrug off "oh she's just a mom."
There is no just. There is only everything.
Every tear, every smile, every whimper, every magical laugh. It is everything.
And everything else, that is all "just".
Little man, you gave me this gift, this mantle of sacred mama.
You are everything to me.