It’s been one year since implantation day. I’m so glad it worked.
I realized recently that I don’t know how to say “I’m proud of you,” in my native tongue. This is because my dad doesn’t say it (not going to read too much into that), and my mom only says it in English. But my mom says it too much. I am not an accomplished person. I don’t even make great decisions. For example, only two minutes ago, I had to choose between getting on the Peloton and doing a 15 minute bicycle ride or eating some cake. And as I sit here in my moment of free time, eating this delicious marble cake my mom made, because I cannot bake, I don’t even regret the choice I made. Every bite I think, “Yes, yes, this was the right choice.” I’m literally sitting right next to Peloton, eating marble cake.
Anyway, my mom is always telling me she’s proud of me. The bar for being proud of me seems very low, I used to think.
But now that I have a daughter, I get it. I’m constantly beaming with pride: when she burps, when she pees BEFORE I finish closing up the diaper, when she projectile poops, when she laughs – oh my when she looks happy, when she gets upset and then is quickly less upset because the issue is resolved, when she’s interested in things, even more so when she’s interested in people. When she yells out, either because shes’s trying to communicate something or because she just realized she can yell. When she tries to sit up. When she’s irritated we have taken her to a store and are shopping, and she doesn’t say anything but glares angrily the entire time. I get it.
…Leave a Comment