An Impromptu Creative Writing Exercise about My First Year of Motherhood
I decided to write about the age that matched the number of dollars I had in my wallet
I should really be studying for my exam on Saturday. The funny thing is, learning about Medical Billing and Coding doesn’t quite take the sting of loneliness away like writing about my feelings does.
The one good thing to come from my divorce, as far as this platform goes, is I don’t get hung up on the little things (insecurities and what-ifs) anymore. Drastic times call for drastic measures. That’s why I can confidently say, now, I write until my heart is content — or until I need to stop and study for a while.
Then, I’ll take another break to write some more.
It was on one of those homework breaks that I looked in my wallet to see what I was workin’ with for the week. In the painful silence that is any space without my kids in it these days, the thought came to me — what if I connect the twenty-seven dollars I have to when I was twenty-seven for shits and giggles?
It sounded like another fantastic way to distract myself from mourning a brutal vacancy.
I spent the morning digging through my well-known wooden chest filled with old journals, and not one of them in that pile was dated back to 2009. I could have kicked myself when I realized, twelve years later, that I didn’t keep a journal the whole time I was pregnant with my first baby boy. The closest I found was a book leading up to the nine months I was pregnant. I remember the very moment I knew I was pregnant.
I remember where we were, what day it was, and what time. I was lying in bed with my ex-husband, chatting as we frequently liked to do back then. I was cuddled up with him, resting my head on his chest, and, I kid you not, suddenly, I felt my whole world tilt on its axis. Everything looked, felt, sounded, tasted, and smelled different. The shift was like nothing I had ever experienced before. Suddenly, my sense of smell increased ten-fold, and I got a big whiff of my ex-husband’s rugged deodorant.
It was then I knew.
Holy shit — I’m pregnant!
And a smile stretched across my face to Paradise.
The first year of motherhood was a blur — an intoxicating oxytocin-induced heavenly blur.
I went back to work when my son was three months old, and as soon as my company could lay me off without suffering any legal repercussions of doing so to a brand-new mother who was fresh off maternity leave — they did.
Twelve years is a lot of time to gain perspective. Losing my cushy, full-time job was the best thing that ever happened to me besides the day six months before it when my ten-pound, one-ounce baby boy was born.
As I said, that day was a blur, but I vividly recall the lead surgeon pulling Liam from my belly and announcing, “Whoa! That’s a big baby!” with such warmth and vibrato in his voice (in that cold operating room).
My son, Liam, and I spent 24/7 together that first year (and the next eleven-ish years thereafter). We spent our Spring and Summer at parks — in swings, blowing bubbles, sprinting through sprinklers, dancing on beaches amongst the waves, and eating frozen yogurt together. In the Fall and Winter, we devoted our time to reading books, baking cookies, banging wooden spoons on pots and pans, playing with playdough, snuggling in homemade forts while we listened to the heavy rain pelt the cement patio, and jumping in freshly raked piles of leaves and at local Jumpy Houses.
Wow, I am so incredibly fortunate to have those memories to look back on when I was twenty-seven. (And to have those twenty-seven bucks in my little purple wallet.) This spontaneous writing prompt turned out to be pretty poignant, aye?
As I said, that day was a blur, but I vividly recall the lead surgeon pulling Liam from my belly and announcing, “Whoa! That’s a big baby!” with such warmth and vibrato in his voice (in that cold operating room).
I can only hope you all feel the same way.
Thank you to everyone reading my articles and taking the time to get to know my story. This platform has made life more bearable and has become my other soft place to land beside my parent's house.
“Mother equals Love
Oh my goodness, you are so special
Too important
Have you realized how special you really are?
Every day you care for me
Right when I wake up, you give me love.” — Luna, my eight-going-on-twenty-year-old-daughter
Thank you for your love and support. You Are Loved. ❤
©2021 Divina Grey. All Right Reserved.
Divina Grey is a ferocious woman and mother rebuilding her life one article at a time. She likes long bike rides, singing and playing her guitar, an electrifying workout, and a cup of coffee so decadent she can feel the frothiness in her bones. Over the last twenty-five years, Divina has stockpiled a collection of journals in an elegant wooden chest and is oozing with gratitude for the chance to share her staggering long-time love of writing with the world.