Feliz día de la Madre!

La maternidad me resulta personalmente una experiencia única, dual, sin medias tintas.

Me permite ser una heroína todos los días, por lo que trato de llevar la capa como tal. Me he vuelto perfeccionista. Cada error que cometo es una tortura de culpa que me recorre todo el cuerpo por entre las venas, los huesos, los músculos; me debilita y a la vez me hace más fuerte, me desmoraliza y me vuelve optimista.

Ya no tengo paz dentro de mí. Sólo encuentro sosiego en cada abrazo que le doy, que me permite recoger ese olorcito a vida tan impregnado a su cuello, un vicio imposible de superar, un olor que ha quedado grabado en lo más profundo de mis fosas nasales, un olor que necesito indefectiblemente, a cada instante.

Si antes mi cabeza no paraba y me daba charla a mitad de la noche con todos los asuntos pendientes, ahora se ha vuelto intolerante a mi necesidad de descanso. Me habla cada vez más fuerte, me recuerda lo que falta, lo que sobra, lo que podría descartar. Y lo peor: lo que no puedo evitar. Mis más profundos miedos vienen como enormes cuchillos a clavarse en mi pecho cada noche, se disfrazan de pesadillas para cortarme la respiración de vez en cuando o se cuelan sigilosos cuando necesito levantarme para ir al baño, algo que además era impensable en mis épocas en que yo era mía y de nadie más.

Aún así, ser madre es mi mayor logro, mi más excitante desafío diario, el más completo de todos mis logros. La maternidad ha moldeado mi cuerpo de una manera impensada, me ha convertido en mi mejor versión, y a veces, en mi peor defecto. Pero qué lindo es cuando esa sensación agridulce se disuelve en una sonrisa, en un abrazo infantil, en un "mimi, te amo" espontáneo, sincero, lleno de inocencia y amor.

Nada más duro. Nada más difícil. Nada más desafiante. NADA MAS LINDO QUE SER TU MAMA.

Happy Mother's Day!

Personally, I think that being a mom is a unique experience. There are no greys. It allows me to be a hero every day, so I try to use my layer the best I can. So, I've become a perfectionist. Every mistake I make means guilty torture and it travels all around my body in between my veins, my bones, my muscles; it weak me but it get me stronger at the same time, it demoralizes me but it get me optimism.

I have no peace inside anymore. I only find peace and quiet in every hug I give her, which allow me to wander into this tiny life smell she has impregnated to her neck, that smell that is a vice impossible to overcome, a smell that has been registered in the deepest zone of my nostrils. A tiny smell I need every second, invariably.

Before her, my head never stopped torturing me, talking to me in the middle of the night, remembering me every open questions. Since her, it has become intolerant to my need to rest. It speaks to me louder every day, it reminds me the things I haven't done yet, the things left over, the things that I could perfectly avoid. But the worst thing ever is that my head reminds me especially the things that I can't avoid at all. My deepest fears come to me as big knives every night, dig into my chest, they dress up like nightmares just to cut my breath every once in a while or they just appear in a stealthy way while I need to go to pee, something I've never needed to do before in those times while I was entirely mine and no one else's.

Even though, being a mom is my biggest achievement, the most exciting challenge, the most complete achievement. Motherhood has molded my body in unthinkable ways. It has turned me in my best version, and sometimes in my worst fault. But, who cares...is really nice when that bittersweet sensation dissolves into a smile, into an infant hug, into a tiny sincere and spontaneous "I love you", full of innocence and love.

There's nothing more hard. There's nothing more difficult. There's nothing more challenging. And there's nothing more lovely than being your MOM.

My reflection

Once upon a time I knew just how to be me. No returns, no excuses, no poses.

Once upon a time I knew how to be , how to flow, how to exist. Once upon a time I knew how to live.

For some reason, that so brazen confidence played a trick on me. I became vulnerable, sensitive. Even sometimes I felt ashamed of myself, though. Sometimes I still feel that way.

Since then, I didn't know how to be me again. I was close, I almost made it a couple of times. But the truth is that I couldn't find me anymore. I lost a part of me and that's why I miss myself. I can't  find me, neither I can reinvent myself. Sometimes I just smiled and  repeat to my self that I have to be patient, I have to be nice. I have to be happy, somehow. And it is at that moment that I feel to be close to who ever I used to be, but the feeling of closeness lasts as long as a breeze, and everything becomes dark again.

Anyway, I learned to live this way. I got used to this costume, I'm sleepy under the same mask. I think a lot, make up stories in my mind and try to find them a happy ending, but sometimes I wonder if it is necessary that everything has an end. Is not the universe infinite? Is it?

Then I laugh, in a mocking way; I'm sarcastic and defeated. I remember that it is time to return to reality and stop fantasizing with words. I need to live and let me live. Forgive me for not being who I want to be and for not accepting me as I am. Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can't.

Being me didn't help me to be happy. In the end, it's easier to cry behind a mask than to smile in front of a mirror. Time passes less inquisitor when one doesn't lower the guard. The fears get hide, the sorrows stagnate. The joy, often ephemeral, is now starring in my life. Until the curtain's voice that never shuts up and that is latent in me falls again, to remind me how miserable I can be. It is good for health to ignore it, at times. Close your eyes and hold your nose. At least for a while, the glass half full will be easier to load.

Mi reflejo

Alguna vez supe ser yo, simplemente. Sin vueltas, sin excusas, sin poses.

Alguna vez supe ser, fluir y existir. Alguna vez supe vivir.

Por algún motivo, esa confianza tan descarada me jugó una mala pasada. Me volvió vulnerable, sensible. Incluso, alguna vez he sentido vergüenza ajena de mí misma. A veces aún así me siento.

Desde entonces, no supe ser yo nuevamente. Estuve cerca, casi lo logro en un par de oportunidades. Pero la realidad es que no pude volver a encontrarme. Perdí parte de mí y me extraño. No consigo encontrarme y tampoco consigo reinventarme. A veces, sólo sonrío y me repito que tengo que ser paciente, que tengo que ser amable. Que tengo que ser feliz, de alguna manera. Y es en ese momento en el que siento estar cerca de quien alguna vez fui, pero la sensación de cercanía dura lo que un suspiro, y todo vuelve a ser oscuro otra vez.

De todos modos, ya aprendí a vivir así. Ya me acostumbré a este disfraz, estoy aletargada bajo la misma careta. Pienso mucho, invento historias en mi mente y trato de encontrarles un final feliz, aunque  a veces también me pregunto si es necesario que todo tenga un final. Acaso no es infinito el universo? 

Luego me río, burlona, sarcástica, vencida. Me recuerdo que ya es hora de volver a la realidad y dejar de fantasear con las palabras. Vivir y dejarme vivir. Perdonarme por no ser quien quiero ser y por no aceptarme tal cual soy. A veces me sale. A veces no.

Ser yo no me sirvió para ser feliz. Al final, me resulta más fácil llorar tras una máscara que sonreir frente a un espejo. El tiempo pasa menos inquisidor cuando uno no baja la guardia. Los miedos se esconden, las tristezas se estancan. La alegría, casi siempre efímera, es ahora protagonista de mi vida. Hasta que cae nuevamente el telón de la voz que no calla jamás y que está latente en mí, para recordarme lo miserable que puedo llegar a ser. Es bueno para la salud hacerse el sordo, en ocasiones. Cerrar los ojos y taparse la nariz. Al menos, por un tiempo, el vaso medio lleno será más fácil de cargar.

The hardest battle is that one we fight against ourselves

I do not intend to justify myself. Neither I pretend to convince anyone. Much less I pretend to convince myself of anything. But I want to repeat it once again: I love being a mom. I really do. I love to see my little girl grow, being by her side in the process of discovering the world. Being always there for her. It really is a special time in my life that I wouldn't thought it could have made me feel so happy and full.

On the other hand, I feel guilty, very guilty. I always pictured myself with several children, to be precise 3. I used to speak about my small crowd and I liked the idea of having three children running all around the house. But my princess came to change my perspective of everything and although I hardly recognize, the truth is that today I don't want any more children.

I say I feel guilty because I love being a mom, in fact is the best thing that would have happened to me in life. So the logical question I ask myself every day is: if you like it so much and it makes you so happy, why don't you want to live it again? And my answer is always the same: I don't want to go through this grueling process, so rewarding though. It's hard being a mom, it's hard to give your children the care they need, the time they need. And honestly, I trully believe that I can't do it again. Saying this, I'm trying to be honest with myself but at the same time I blame myself because I feel it's wrong to feel the way I feel. Sometimes I question if I want to have another child just to weigh the guilt, even though deep down I feel comfortable with just one daughter.

Neither the pretext of having "my baby boy" changed my perspective. In fact, sometimes I think that in case of having another child it would be so nice to have another baby girl. Even though I once dreamed of my little man. Anyhow, I could never be again the mom that I was and am with Sofia, nor even if I'd try. I'd no longer have time, neither my hands wouldn't be enough.

Some people will say "it gets easier with the second baby" or "is better to have all of them in a row so you do it all at once." And they are probably right. Maybe a second child is easier, although in the end I think more than easier it would be less stressful, because one as a parent has already passed many fears, but not all. What about having children in a row to raise all of them at once? People who believe this see motherhood as a race against time? And what about the obligation "to have" more than one child and do everything faster to pass the process sooner? I don't understand, really. It doesn't make sense for me. Because even knowing how hard it is to raise a person, I enjoy the process. The difference is that I don't believe I might do it with someone else, again.

Maybe it's too soon to keep question so many things. Perhaps this guilty I feel is simply a reflection of the enthusiasm I used to have about my small crowd when I really didn't know what that entails, on my scale of priorities. And perhaps my biggest fear is confirm my worst fear: not being able to love a second child as much as I love my little queen.

Sometimes I wish I could not think that much. Sometimes I like to do it, because all my decisions are the product of the love I put into everything I do. Anyway, I still can not get out of this uncertainty that generates in me the feeling that I don't want to be a mom again. The guilt is internal, the battle I fight is with myself. A struggle that doesn't worth pursuing, but that it's still there and I can't avoid yet.

I will leave this whirlwind of feelings someday? May I befriend with my true self?

La batalla más dura es la que damos contra nosotros mismos

No pretendo justificarme ni convencer a nadie, mucho menos autoconvencerme de nada. Pero quiero repetirlo una vez más: me encanta ser mamá. Me fascina ver crecer a mi gorda, acompañarla en el proceso de descubrir el mundo, estar siempre ahí para ella. Realmente es un momento especial de mi vida que no creí que me haría sentir tan feliz y plena.

Por otro lado, siento culpa, mucha culpa. Siempre me imaginé con varios hijos, exactamente 3. Hablaba de mi pequeña multitud y me gustaba la idea de tener tres descendientes correteando en la casa. Pero mi princesa vino a cambiar mi perspectiva y, aunque me cuesta reconocerlo, la verdad es que hoy no quiero tener más hijos.

Digo que me da culpa porque me encanta ser mamá, es lo mejor que me pasó en la vida. Entonces, la pregunta lógica que me hago a diario es: si tanto te gusta y tan feliz te hace, por qué no querés vivirlo nuevamente? Y mi respuesta siempre es la misma: no quiero volver a pasar por este proceso agotador, aunque tan gratificante. Es muy duro ser mamá, darles la atención que necesitan, dedicarles el tiempo que requieren. Y sinceramente, no creo poder hacerlo otra vez. Así, me sincero conmigo misma y me culpo, porque siento que está mal sentir de la manera que siento. A veces me cuestiono si tendría otro hijo sólo para sopesar esa culpa, aunque en el fondo me sienta a gusto con una sola hija.

Ni el pretexto de "mi varoncito" cambia mi perspectiva. De hecho, a veces pienso, que de tener otro hijo, sería tan lindo tener otra nena, aunque alguna vez soñé con mi hombrecito. Pero jamás podría volver a ser la mamá que fui y que soy con Sofía, aunque quisiera. Ya no tendría tiempo, no me alcanzarían las manos.

Algunos dirán "se pone más fácil con el segundo", o "mejor tenerlos seguidos así lo hacés todo de una sola vez". Y probablemente tengan razón y un segundo hijo sea más fácil, aunque en el fondo creo que más que fácil, sería menos estresante, porque uno ya ha superado muchísimos miedos, aunque no todos. Tener hijos seguidos para criarlos de una sola vez? Es que acaso quienes lo sostienen ven a la maternidad como una carrera contra reloj? La obligación de "tener" más de un hijo y hacerlo todo rápido para que pase cuanto antes? No lo entiendo, en serio. Porque dentro de lo duro que es criar una persona, disfruto el proceso. La diferencia es que no creo poder hacerlo con otra persona más.

Tal vez sea muy pronto para cuestionarme tantas cosas. Tal vez la culpa sea simplemente el reflejo de la ilusión de armar una pequeña multitud sin haber sabido lo que ello conlleva, en mi escala de prioridades. Y tal vez mi mayor miedo sea confirmar mi mayor temor: no poder amar tanto a un segundo hijo como amo a mi reina.

A veces quisiera no pensar tanto. A veces me gusta hacerlo, porque todas mis decisiones son producto del amor que pongo a todo lo que hago. De todos modos, aún hoy no logro salir de esta incertidumbre que me genera el no querer volver a ser mamá. La culpa es interna, la lucha es conmigo misma. Una lucha que no vale la pena continuar, pero que está ahí latente y no la puedo evitar.

Se irá de mí este torbellino de sentimientos algún día? Podré amigarme con mi verdadero yo?

Then one day you came into my life without any warning!

Since I was pregnant, I began to imagine the great meeting with my baby. I thought I could control the pain as I had done many times in the past with different kind of pains that had been told me were assimilated to the dreaded labor pains. That's why I was so confident; in fact, I thought that somehow I would be able to handle it. I did my pilates exercises, I went for lots of walks, I ate healthy; in short, I did everything "I had to do" to reach as perfect as I needed to that blind date with my offspring. 

To my delight, everything was coming up perfect: the weight of my baby, its location, even my own weight was ideal! I only had to wait until the big day has come and live that desired meeting like how many times I had imagined it: bidding, giving life to my daughter, bringing her into this world with my own strength, giving her her first breath after a sweet pat on her back. Yes, i have to admit it: that was my movie. And I was happy thinking that this was the way it would be like. Every day I talked to my princess and said "you do not worry, my pinky, everything it's gonna be fine. Mama will do all the hard work, you just position yourself well, I'll do the rest. And we'll be meeting sooner as you can imagine". After that, I stroked my belly, sometimes receiving a knowing kick, full of tranquility that only a mother can transmit with the the sound of her own voice. 

And finally the day came by. You know, everything comes once in life. And so came the pain (God, what pain!) and the fear, the terror to that labor process that had triggered and wich I couldn't be able to restrain, much less I couldn't be able to handle it in the way I would had intended. 

I knew (still not sure how) that something was going wrong. The pains weren't increasing, they were located in the area of my right kidney. It was as if someone had stuck a sharp knife, the kind cooks use to chop, or those which you can see in thrillers as a lethal weapon. And I felt like someone turned the knife into my body without stopping. It is the most graphic description I can make to describe the pain I felt then. But why the pain didn't progress? Why was located there? Why did I have some relief putting some heat in there or lying down sideways? Definitely something was going wrong, I could sensed it. 

Anyway, it's just life. There was was no kitchen knife and no one was torturing me. That pain came from my baby, my poor baby who was trying to do what I had asked her to: she was trying to placed herself in the birth canal. But her size and mine size could not agree and even if she tried, my princess couldn't placed herself. She was only trying to fulfill my desires. Oh, my goodness, I feel so guilty until now about that. 

The emergency c-section was the endind of such a beautiful process that left me really sad. As I prepared for surgery, tears ran down my cheeks as a marathon. I felt the loss of not having done my part, which I had just promised to my daughter in so many times before. 

I was devastated, tired, exhausted. I needed a nap, but there was no time to relax. It was time for our awaited meeting !!! And I wasn't ready! 

When I finally saw her, when finally her face touched mine and her improvised crying stopped a few seconds when found our scents together, so close and so familiar, we both knew that the trip was over, but at the same time that trip was just begining. In fact, there was no turning back time to be sad. That ideal, perfect, electrifying and full love had invaded the operating room and while I was still in shock, it was inevitable to give her my first tears of joy, though I most wanted to hug her at that moment. Impossible, among so many cables and needles. The heartbreaking cry was pounding on the walls for a while, as she walked away in her daddy's sweet hug, a dad who couldn't get out of wonder and joy, all those feelings contained in a look so full of emotions and in a such wide smile. 

And there I was, waiting the doctors to close for me that chapter of my life, trying to understand that finally was the time to exercise that word so cute and wich today identifies me: mom. 

I waited quietly in the room, with a tinge of sadness, guilt and joy. All together, scrambled through my blood and rinsing in my tears. But there she was and I forgot everything. We recognized each other immediately and we joined in the cutest hug ever. She clung to me and we didn't need any instructions. We both knew how to do it and we sat in silence, enjoying the process of breastfeeding for the first time. It was wonderful. 

It is until this day that I would have wanted things to be different. But I try not to blame myself anymore. I try to focus on being the best mom to my daughter, to give her everything she needs. I want her to leftover kisses for later, i want her to have hugs to give and smiles to share. And I wish for her that the tears dry quickly, in mom's lap. 

And here we are, 13 months after that magical night where casual and paradoxically in Argentina is celebrated the independence day. It means the ability to choose, the ability to act freely ... I couldn't choose how to bring her into the world, I was not free to do so, but I was free to choose you, my baby, even before knowing you were inside me. I looked up for her with all my heart and I found her. And that's my princess, a little bit of me that encloses all the happiness that surrounds me today and I never thought I would experience. A love so deep, so lit inside, so magical, so perfect, so pure. A love that just can't be compare. To anything.