Isabella

“So. This is motherhood. I ponder it. I ponder the lonely, cruel, relentless obligation of motherhood. I ponder the loving, soft, yielding wonder of motherhood. I ponder the mystery of who you are, little stranger, and who you will become...

I love you. I love you. To habituate myself to the idea of loving you, I say it many times. You're ugly. I tried not to think that last thought, but the thought snuck in. It was easier to love you before you were born. I'm afraid of you. You disgust me. I've made a terrible mistake.

I'm your mother.
I chose it.
I love you.

I remind myself that all firstborn things are hideously ugly. We sit and rock together until it grows dark all around. At some point, there in the dark, after staring at you for so long, and after it gets so dark in this room that I can't see you at all, you become very beautiful to me, and I say yes to being your mother.
I say: yes yes yes yes yes yes yes.
Why do I say yes? I'll never know.
It could be of my own free will.
It could be that you've injected me with your little talon. It could be that your talon is dipped in the poison of mother-love.”
― Claire Oshetsky, Chouette

“You're my fate and you're my dire necessity. You're my refuge when I'm lost, and losing you would kill me. Your flights and falls are dreamlike and perfect and I'm blessed to be the one to witness them.”
― Claire Oshetsky, Chouette