Enjoying the journey of discovery and preserving it for my son

I’m not the gal I was a year ago, seven-and-a-half months ago, even two weeks ago.

I’m suddenly and strangely reflective, retrospective, collective and affective.

Every day I’m overwhelmed by the miracle of motherhood, and my son’s innocence, grace and trust bring me unbelievable joy and soul-haunting, “what if?” fears.

Motherhood has this remarkable ability to make a woman feel at times more alone and despondent than ever before, while quietly revealing to her the common human experience of maternity that binds women together in no-one-else-quite-gets-it understanding and appreciation. Pretty insightful for someone less than eight months into this motherhood thing, eh?

And while the bulk of my lessons are in front of me, yet to be struggled through and rewarded, I have taken a few realizations to heart. My passion is to embrace the ever-evolving me, enjoy the journey and chronicle our life.

Celebrating the simple, every-day routines; the memories-in-the-making we recognize as we live them will inspire laughter for years to come; the sad lessons that humble us; the milestones we reach easily; and the goals we abandon or reshape.

I strive to lead a life radiating love, one that comforts and assures my son daily he is secure and cherished, and a life of which he will grow to be proud and thankful. I also strive to leave a legacy of love in written word that entertains, inspires, bemuses and honors the honesty in our experiences, good and bad.

I want to leave for him this stream-of-consciousness manuscript of our life that details how we grow and transform together, learning from each other.

I want him to know love in his heart and have a tangible record, after I’m gone, of our ordinary, extraordinary life of love and how he shaped me into a better person.