Becoming a mom.

A haiku and reflection on planning.

Both of my girls were
born in March, one week apart.
Lovely flowers bloom.

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I guess my body was extra fertile in June. Maybe it was that and the fact that mid-March was a great time for me to be off work. Having both of my babies mid-March meant I could design the whole Chronicle Books children’s catalog, deliver mechanicals, but then, “Oh gosh! I guess I’m too pregnant to fly to the printer and stay up all night doing the press check.” In other words, I was able to fulfill the most important part of my freelance contract and skip the all-nighter at the end.

Family planning can be influenced by many factors.

What was amazing and fortunate was that I could make a plan in the first place. I was able to look at the big picture of my life and do what I thought made sense.

And, my body followed the script I wrote.

Planning my daughter’s births around my work schedule was intentional and probably a fluke that it even worked. I’m so aware that things don’t go according to best-laid plans for most people. In this situation, my not-yet-glitchy body actually cooperated. At the time, I didn’t realize how unusual that was. I didn’t realize how fortunate I was. I didn’t realize how fragile that opportunity to plan my foray into motherhood was.

Now I do.

While I sometimes questioned my judgement during the years of March Madness (planning and executing two back-to-back children’s parties in two weeks), I’m keenly aware of the scaffolding that allowed me the choice to give birth twice in the same month, three years apart, on purpose. Because it worked for me. A side note of gratitude to my sister, whose birthday falls smack dab in the middle of these two birth dates, for never having high expectations of me for her celebration.

I was able to become a mom according to my own schedule. Because of birth control, education, Roe v Wade, privilege, the right to vote, medical research, ethical and empathic healthcare providers, and generations of women who came before me. My daughters and I owe everything to the women who fought for our voting rights, the ability to make decisions about our own bodies, our right to file charges for sexual assault, divorce, open a bank account, own a business, get a loan, and basically steer the direction of our lives to the best of our ability.

It’s infuriating that these rights are being eroded and attacked today. I am filled with rage at the injustices women face daily in every corner of the globe.

I am buoyed by the strength, sisterhood, creativity, and capacity to love that so many women I know embody.

In March, I celebrate my daughters. I celebrate the fact that my body cooperated with the naive and maybe crazy idea that I could schedule pregnancies. I celebrate the joy of raising daughters. I celebrate the fight for their rights, my own, and for those who may not be able to fight for themselves.

I love you, my girls. Your mama is so very lucky. I’m here to do everything in my power to make sure you are lucky too. Happy Birthdays to you. Happy Birthing Days to me.

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