Time never ceases to freak me the hell out. Despite the fact that a second is a second, a minute will always be 60 seconds and so on, time is nonetheless a sneaky bugger. These perhaps not so unique reflections are spurred by my little lady, Ms. Lydia Fagan Dandeneau who just turned one. As Max says, she now has her number. Number 1. That really is a great number to have. The newness and greatness of 1. From 0 to 1. Kind of amazing, Lydia. 12 months. 52 weeks. 365 days. Too lazy to calculate minutes or seconds. But a year of them, nonetheless. In some ways it has zipped by like Christmas holidays. In other ways, it is like my world pre-Lydia, pre-motherhood, is a whole lifetime away. Some days zip by, sometimes a half hour waiting for Stéphane to come home while trying to make supper with Lydia on my hip seems to take forever.

It is also interesting how for the early weeks of Lydia’s life, each day seemed like a milestone. Especially that first week when I was battling ‘baby blues’ and trying to physically and emotionally recover from the trauma of a 22 hour birth, while dealing with the awesome transformation of becoming a mother and experiencing a level of love that almost scared me. Then every week became a milestone, while seeing my little daughter open her eyes more, begin to really see the world around her, start smiling, beginning to recognize her pappa, sleeping a little longer. Each week was such a big deal. Now at 12 months, every month is a milestone. Before I know it, I will be talking in halfs. Lydia is 1 and a half and so on. And then years. Wow. My baby. But, of course, she will always be my baby. My nanny once said with a tear in her eye on the occasion of my mom’s birthday…”my baby is sixty”. I think that says it all.

Another crazy experience of time happened on the day leading up to Lydia’s birthday. At around 12pm I said to myself “one year ago today, I was starting to get contractions”. A couple hours later I said “by now, I was sure I was in labour”.  A few hours later “I was watching epidsodes of 30 Rock, while Steph was marking my contractions on a piece of paper”. Just before going to bed – “In a couple hours, we would have been heading to the birthing centre”. When I woke up the next morning – “Getting close to 9 cm”.  Arriving at work – “Almost fully dialated”. Coffee break – “Started pushing”…….Finally, almost at lunch time I said “one year ago, I just met my daughter”. Sweet Mary mother of God. That seemed like an eternity. Yet, while in labour, it didn’t seem like a long time. In fact, time wasn’t really anything. I was in another planet for most of it. I said to Steph yesterday, it was like I was an animal. My higher brain functioning wasn’t really working. He said, you didn’t ‘go down’. You went to a higher place.  True.  It was crazy to go through my labour like that while feeling normal. It gave me perspective, and quite honestly, another reason to feel proud of myself that I did it.

So. Time. You crazy friend. In some ways I feel a little nostalgic while I think back at the last year. Lydia will never be a new born again. But those memories are so ingrained in my soul that they make up an essential part of who I now am. Me. A mother. A bigger person than before. I have experienced the most extreme of so many emotions since that fateful day one year ago. The most extreme love and joy. Of course. Beyond anything. But also fear, insecurity, and the most extreme and insane type of frustration from lack of sleep that led me to run out of the bedroom and fall down on the floor sobbing until my eyes couldn’t tear anymore, or that led me to put Lydia back in her crib screaming while I sat on the bed next to her and began to pull out my hair. Oh, yes. It isn’t always pretty. People don’t talk so much about the real dark reality that parenting can be from time to time. But I want to say it out loud. Because I got through it. And those moments are transient. And they make us stronger and show us how much we love our children. And the good is so worth it that it isn’t even worth comparing…and this is coming from a mom of a baby who still wakes up several times a night. But those hair pulling days are gone (for now at least). I adapted. And I just really realise now at the deepest part of me that life is hard work. But hard work isn’t bad. It just it. It is our attitude that turns it into something positive or negative. A one year old is work…but I love the work. A one year old and a full time job is even more work. Great. Work means I am living. Because life is work. We work, and if we’re lucky that work can be to take care of the greatest little thing the universe could create. Lydia. I love you. Happy birthday.