Some days, when I’m sitting in our rocking chair in the nursery feeding my daughter, I think of nothing.

I hold the bottle to her mouth and I think of what to make for dinner, or what groceries we need, or when I might be able to wash my hair next.

But some days, like today, when I’m holding her sweet little body in my arms, I look down at her and it’s like my heart just crawled up on a surfboard and caught the best wave of its life.

Today as I was feeding her, I was thinking of nothing in particular.

I looked down to see if she was still feeding or nearly ready for me to pop her soother in, and when I looked down, I saw one tiny golden hair sticking straight up from the rest, waving like a piece of seagrass in the current. That one, tiny golden hair was rocking in time to the rhythm of our rocking chair, and my heart just broke into a million pieces.

I looked at her crazy little patch of hair, sticking up in all directions, and realized that tomorrow, it will look different. It will wake up in a different crazy pattern. It will be a few micro-millimetres longer.

Her front teeth that have just come in will be a little further out from her gums than they were today. Her pudgy, stout little fingers clasped so tightly around her bottle that they’re white around the edges will be a little longer, a little thinner.

One day in the not so distant future, I won’t be in this chair with my daughter at this time of day anymore because I’ll be back at work and she’ll be in dayhome.

One day, I won’t even remember what she was like at this age.

I’ll need videos and photos to remind me that she was ever this small, and this perfect.

When I saw that tiny little golden hair swaying in the sunlight today, I realized that every single moment I have with her is a gift.

Every day that she wakes up, she’s a new child. A little older, a little different from the day before.

To the Best Mother I Know

Today, on my very first Mother’s Day, I would like to pay my respects and give the honour to the best mother I know-
Ryan Schofield.

But seriously.

On April 15th, two days postpartum for me, and day two of neonatal intensive care for our daughter, I looked over at Ryan from my wheelchair in NICU while he was asking the nurse questions about her latest bowel movement while teaching me how to bottle feed our daughter the way she liked it – and I laughingly told him that when Mother’s Day came around, I was going to dedicate it to him.

Anyone who knows me knows that I am a fierce-ass feminist and that I Love awareness days.

Anything I can do to promote women’s rights, I will.

International Women’s Day?
Time to sing women’s praises.

Red Dress Day?
Time to grieve and shed light on indigenous women’s struggles.

The Me Too movement?
Time to unite women, enlighten men and rage against the machine.

So you would think that on my Very First Mother’s Day, I would sing the praises of all the strong women I know, including myself, once more.

But no- I am Honestly dedicating this first Mother’s Day post to my amazing and rock-steady partner,
Ryan Schofield.

I know that seems strange-
Way to take one of the only occasions given to celebrate women and give it to a man-
What a bummer!
But hear me out.

My birth was traumatic.

I Absolutely Loved it and I would birth 100 more babies because I loved the act of it so much- but in the sense of what it did to my body, it was traumatic.

I had a front to back tear that got completed by a 1.75-inch episiotomy to save my future anal sphincter’s ability to function.

My girl was twisted inside of me at a 45-degree tilt that required two pairs of obstetrician’s arms to disappear inside of me at the 7th hour of labour to wrench her shoulders into a more desirable downward descent.

The last half hour, my tearing got worse, and she had her face turned at the wrong angle for a safe head passage into the world.

So then a 14-inch long pair of forceps disappeared inside of me to fix that problem.

Then the scissors for the episiotomy came out and cut me almost two inches long.

Then my almost 8-pound girl came out of there.

I’m telling it in detail like it is because That- or something like That- is how women become Mothers.

Pregnancy, birthing, mothering- it’s All hard as Hell.
It’s beautiful, empowering, soul-deepening, heart-widening and Amazing- but the process of becoming a mother is Hard as Hell.

And that is why my first Mother’s Day is dedicated to Ryan.

Without his love, I wouldn’t have wanted to create Sadie and bring her into being in the first place.

Without his strength and presence beside me in the delivery room, I don’t know how I would have gotten through the labour itself.

Without his dedication to our daughter in NICU those first 48 hours that I was too mangled in the Postpartum unit to even get to our child-
Sadie wouldn’t have had the right paperwork signed, the right questions asked and dutifully reported back to me; and most importantly, she wouldn’t have been able to hear from at least one of her functioning parents how much she was loved.

I was in a drugged-out and sleep-deprived daze for the first 48 hours of postpartum and Ryan was Always there for her, and for me.

And without Ryan’s Fierce commitment to me and my mental and physical health, I wouldn’t have flown through my postpartum recovery phase as well as I have.

We had a little three-day stumbling block with a potential manic episode, but together we recognized it, treated it, and rose above it.

Ryan is an Incredible parent, and an amazing partner.

So while it rattles me to dedicate this day to him and not to myself or any one of the amazing Mother’s I have or know-
He Deserves it. He Earned it.

A mother, to me, has all the following traits:
Nurturing, strong, caring, kind, patient, loving, fiercely protective, dedicated and basically a badass.

So, Ryan- Happy Mother’s Day.

I LOVE parenting with you.