On eating crow.

Sweet Aves,

I called my mom, your Nana, on the day you turned five months this week so that she could say 'I told you so.' (You will learn that people really like it when you give them the chance to say that. If you're anything like your mother, it will pain you to deliver such satisfaction. Do it anyway.)

Typically I don't seek out these opportunities, but there was no avoiding it. I had indeed been terribly wrong. Wrong about never wanting to be a mother.

That was the tired song I played on repeat up until the year we began trying for you. And even then, the chorus only changed slightly to "maybe, someday, but not today."

Looking back, I'm not certain what I was so afraid of. Was it too much of an expectation? Did some part of me need extra time questioning the paradigm to make motherhood OK? Was I worried that my sense of self would change so much I wouldn't know who I am? Did I see motherhood as boring? Hard? Thankless? Messy and sleepless? Yes, yes, and hell yes. And I'm pretty sure I was right on all accounts.

But Nana's Top-40 Motherhood Mix included such hits as "Becoming Your Mother Was the Best Decision I've Ever Made," and "It's Different When It's Your Child." And then of course there was the overplayed but catchy "You'll Understand. Someday. When You're a Mother."

And, damn if she wasn't right.

I do understand now, Aves.

I understand that you make my life infinitely messier, sleepless and confound the logistics of what used to be an easy routine. That since I've had you, my sense of self has been turned on its head and then flipped and flopped again like a fish out of water.

But I also now understand that in spite of every challenge, the privilege of greeting each day with a smiling baby fills my heart so big it could burst. That even when you scream at the top of your lungs in your carseat, it only bothers me because I can't comfort you. That my morning conversations with you are more fulfilling than any promotion, award or successful negotiation I was previously proud of. That having the ability to make you smile just by flashing you a grin in the mirror, or pumping your legs, or blowing on your belly makes me feel like I could move mountains.

I know now that I was so wrong to cling so tightly to those fears about bringing you into this world. How glad I am that I ignored my own words, tuned into my heart, and decided to meet you anyway.

Thank you, Nana, for being right all along. I love you. Now more than ever.