It's funny how quickly the angst I remember from training for the DC marathon falls away like a frivolous, self-absorbed memory of a former self. How foreign it seems to have cared so much about running some arbitrary distance. As a new mom, in the time that I was pregnant with Maika and brought her into this tough world, there has been much violence.
The shootings in Connecticut, the two sweet children murdered at bath time by their nanny, an eight-year old spectator at the Boston Marathon dead today. It isn't that I didn't feel sadness or pain over the loss of innocent lives before, but the pang in my chest in the sick fear that that someone could be My daughter, My Maika, leaves me breathless, I'll. These were innocent, warm children. Babies with their lives ahead of them. Pure, trusting, ruddy-faced little ones who did not deserve to be the casualties in our adult wars.
It makes me all too aware of the daily realities that other mothers in war torn countries face everyday. It moves me to tears to feel this collective holding of breath, hoping to our babies get home safe. I feel selfish at times, for bringing Maika into a not so great time in world history. She did not ask to be here or be exposed to bombs and assault rifles.
Becoming a mother... It is an unbelievable responsibility and my daughter is a constant reminder that I must remember to do good in this life. That I cannot spend my walk home with her worried about steaming her dinner or her blueberry stained new onesie. She is palpable, golden and here in the present.
I worry too much about insignificant, mundane daily tasks.
I only have right now to love her and this moment to enjoy her.
My heart breaks for the mothers in Boston tonight.
Xo
M
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