Holding My Daughter, Missing My Mother

My sweet Charlee Ann is 12 days old today, which means that I’ve been a mom for 12 whole days. 

12 long, messy, mistake-filled, beautiful, tiring, loving days. And 12 days I’ve missed my mom more than ever before. I have taken a giant leap into parenthood and I wish more than ever that Mom was here to catch me. I wish I had her to turn to when Charlee wouldn’t take a bottle because she needed to burp and I didn’t know it. I wish she was here to show me how to swaddle her in a blanket. I wish I could ask her questions about breastfeeding. I wish she was here to go shopping with me for extra newborn-sized clothing. I wish I could consult her when I make mistakes, and to have her reassure me through them. 

Sometimes the weight of missing Mom feels heavier than Charlee in my tired arms. I look down at my wrist cradling this tiny, beautiful life, and there it is… my tattoo of an anchor, with a small infinity heart with Mom’s handwriting of “Mom” inside of it. I got it a year and a half ago as a constant reminder of the stability Mom always gave me, and how she loved me without end. Now, I hold my daughter with that same wrist, and I’m wishing more than ever that Mom could see us. I know she would be proud of me for figuring things out and doing the best I can, but I wish I could hear her say it.

I think about all the ways Mom would have grounded me these past 12 days: when I doubted myself, when I called myself names for making mistakes, when I cried because I couldn’t help Charlee stop crying, or when I was ready to give up on breastfeeding. I know she’d have been there to calm me, to reassure me, and to say the words I ache to hear: you’re doing ok, you’re a good mom, you’ll get through this moment too. 

There have been moments I’ve felt proud… like the moment Charlee finally entered the world after a scary delivery, when she settles against my chest after a fit of crying, when she latches at my breast, or when I figure out something new on my own. But even in those moments of pride, I wish I could share my pride with her. 

I am 12 days into motherhood. 12 days of holding my daughter close. 12 days of missing my mom so fiercely it hurts. 12 days of realizing this is what motherhood is going to be for me - loving my daughter with all I have, while missing the mother who taught me how.