In 2015, I became a mother. I was prepared for the grueling labor, and sleepless nights, but the loss of my sense of self can as a surprise. I had no time to think and I began to feel like a shell of a person. My early days of motherhood were alienating and awful as well as sentimental and dear. I began to see myself as defined only by a relationship
I felt that my son was an appendage of myself; the embodiment of self and other. It was hard to accept that he was a growing, changing person while I was to remain forever split. When he is near my thoughts are entangled around him and when I am away I cannot seem to be the person I was before.
A child is how we remain on Earth; they are our legacies. As I see my son grow I feel my time begin to speed up; I feel my decay. When we think about birth we must realize our death. Motherhood is precious and raw; wonderful and dark.