Tessa will begin school in the fall. I am preparing for this. The end of something, a time which, at times, I didn't believe would ever end. How desperate I wanted that 6 weeks mark to come, knowing I would be recovered from her birth, and the 3 month mark so nursing would be easier, and once she could hold a toy in her hand or sit up so she'd be less frustrated. Or crawl so I she could go and get that ball for herself. Or walk so I wouldn't have to hold her everywhere we went. Or sleep through the night or not need diapers or feed herself or climb into the swing without me or get herself dressed without me... and those desperate wants of mine--well, they have passed and we move onto the next one. Tessa pushes me through and completes these wants for me.
What was most difficult during these times was that, in their passing, I never knew when they would end. If I could have known that yes, in by age 7 weeks Tessa would nurse comfortably from both breasts or that when I found myself, along with Brian awake for hours and hours each night, that yes, soon, Tessa would sleep for long stretches of time and by that age of 2, I wouldn't have to take her for midnight strolls, in the front pack, throughout the neighborhood, just to get her to sleep. If I could have know the exact time I needed to hold on, 3 more weeks, 6 months, whatever the length of time until things shifted, it would have been so much easier. I can only compare these times to the struggles I have met in running marathons. As long as I know how long I must push, I will push. That is me at my core. I will get through those 20 miles as long as I know there are only 20 more miles to run. But this is also how running differs from mothering. Running is finishable. I know with running, how much longer I must dig deep and push. Mothering has very little beginning or foreseeable ending but there is an ending. This I know from my Tessa. And in having Tessa to mark the endings, I have been gifted my Teagan to mark my beginnings and this time, hold onto what's in my hands, not desperately scanning the road ahead for the next mile marker.
