“Imagine being born. You find safety in the chests of those closest for months to come. Your mom is told enough is enough; she should put you down and go outside, or wear ear plugs if the noise gets too much.
But she doesn’t. She lowers you down after you’ve fallen asleep in her arms. Sometimes you wake and she’s gone. But she’s never far away.
Imagine being one. You are exploring. Tupperware cupboards and a very soon to be empty ‘under the kitchen sink’ cupboard. Everyone says now that you’re walking, you’ll need more food. There’s no nutritional value in milk. Mom should stop. She’s only doing it for her.
But she doesn’t. The milk tastes as sweet as the day you were born. Because it is.
Imagine being two. Everything feels big. Everyone tells mom it’s terrible. Everyone says it’s best to ignore, be strong, be firm.
But she doesn’t. Terrible, no. Turbulent, yes. She gets down to your level. She tells you she’s here. She takes you in her arms outside for some fresh air. She says, ‘I know you’re little. But it’s okay to feel big things.’ She borrows picture books about feelings from the library.
Imagine being three. Everything feels even bigger. Everyone tells mom she’s built a rod for her own back, that she needs to give you a time-out.
But she doesn’t. She takes you to your room. For connection, not punishment. You don’t feel so afraid of the feelings when they are shared.
Imagine being four. You’re spending some time away now. Everyone tells mom there’s something wrong. All the other kids are settled. She needs to make you exactly like them.
But she doesn’t. She believes in you. She helps the family every day. She makes you a special box to take with you to remind you of home. She draws a heart on everyone’s hand.
Imagine being five. ‘You thought two was terrible! Welcome to the F**k It Fives,’ they say. Everyone says you’re a ‘big girl.’ They say a lot of things. They say mom should listen.
But she doesn’t. She thinks you’re as magic as the unicorns you read about. She thinks you’re an angel as you drift off to sleep. And she tells you every day.
Oh, just imagine.”
This story was submitted to Love What Matters by Zelma of The Postnatal Project. You can follow her journey on Instagram and her website. Submit your own story here, and be sure to subscribe to our free email newsletter for our best stories, and YouTube for our best videos.
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