I’m Bulletproof, Nothing to Lose

“I’m bulletproof, nothing to lose
Fire away, fire away
Ricochet, you take your aim
Fire away, fire away”

There was a time in which breastfeeding woes were the worst part of my life.

I know, I know, right? There was a raging virus out there in the world, and also one in my heart and in my home. Yet, it’s hard to see past physical pain, especially when you never experience physical pain. Even the most small and nagging pains can be detrimental to your overall health if they’re consistent enough. This was temporary and everyone knew it, but it was breathlessly intertwined with sleep deprivation and heartbreak. In and out of blurs and fogs, sleep to dream to nurse to pain, to sleep to dream to nurse again. Often, I was shocked that I had had a baby. The birth was intense and painful, and then relieving, but it was also weird and hormonal and aching; I nearly didn’t recognize myself after it. I’d pinch myself out of dreams and nightmares.

Something so beautiful and unexpected, came through and out of a nightmarish crisis.

As the story goes, the nursing got better. The emotions spun and spin like a merry-go-round. One morning must have been the last morning I woke up engorged and sore. Then, so many sunny mornings and afternoons. His early smiles gave way to grins and giggles and laughter. He outgrew his bassinet, but not before I probably let him linger too long in there. It’s where the two of us grew, peering from the bed over to the moses basket, stunned every time. Just how could something so beautiful and unexpected, have come through and out of this nightmarish world? I was like a first time mother again, in the expected and unexpected. In the aches and pains, and torments; the stretching and constricting. My heart and my lungs and my stomach have been knowing and not knowing what to do. All I could do, then, was to peer over the bed to the moses basket. His sunny smile widened as his eyes met mine. I was breathless; proud too.

I don’t know why I chose the song “Titanium” for the birth mix, other than for obvious strength reasons. My reasons are often more subtle, and they’re often scattered puzzles pieces that I take the time to put together and understand. Those nine months in, and those now nine months out (celebrated to the day on Tuesday) have spun so many revolutions and revelations. I wanted so badly for nursing to get better, and even end, and now as he starts to self-wean, despite my somewhat frantic heartbreak and relief, it feels like it’s the end, but of what? It’s the beginning.

Sure, I got obsessed with the glowing light and the loving mornings. Pain free and easy. Even now, after the seemingly 17,000 days of rain we’ve had, and the wear and tear on our bodies and our careers and our mental health as well. As the baby inches closer to toddlerhood, and it feels like a noose slowly tightening. I nearly can’t breathe when I think about this bonus baby, and how he made this third time mama feel like a first time mama all over again. I think a lot about our start, and about the labor, the mastitis, and the bleary, blurry days, all blending together as one. Will time now feel like that one day too? Or are these moments stark and vivid, holding and folding themselves into key memories. I don’t know yet, and I won’t. All I can do is hold on and hold out. This bonus life, that never feels quite like mine, but it also feels EXACTLY like mine.

I wake up every morning to nurse, not knowing if it will be the last time. I never did that with Scarlet and Des, but there’s a beauty in that too. There’s a balance between the obsessing over something, and not thinking about it at all. I have yet to strike that balance. The one of living in the beautiful now, without panicking over any darker or lighter futures or pasts. Yes, I became obsessed with the preservation of the deliciousness; this absolute sanity, but who says it’s going anywhere? Life changes its tastes and flavors, but sometimes it has to swirl together and set in. The newness is fresh, yes, but also too tart, too new, too sour, too bitter; maybe too shocking.

The in-between is just right. It’s enough.

Rider was born into the darkest part of the year, when the glowing ambers and oranges turned into grays and browns, and we turned inward to embrace the dazzling warmth and color, while we could. Slowly, the light grew stronger and higher in the sky, lighting his cheeks and also his eyelashes. The pain lifted, like his laughter into the atmosphere. I was bulletproof then. I was titanium. And the thing is, I still am. Even though I wasn’t safe, I felt the most protected when pregnant, from derision and despair, handled delicately and sensitively. My baby was the most safe then, even though I worried he was the least safe. What could be safer than in my arms?

They are bulletproof because they are love. Hope, light, grace, and forgiveness.

You can go crazy counting things up or down, like 18 summers, or 18 months. You don’t know when things will be your last – there was a last time I nursed Scarlet and Des, a last time I hugged my father, a last time, before Rider, that I changed a diaper or emptied out the diaper pail. Sometimes I want to go back and experience the first months all over again, but then I wouldn’t know the Rider now, full of dancing and joy, golden curls and deep, curious eyes.

It’s like I want it all – time swirling back and forth, over and under, touchable from all angles, perspectives; revolutions and revelations. I want it to stretch and constrict, and set lessons, meanings, and definitions in stone, while remaining warm to the touch, soft, still moldable, growing higher and lovelier, and more bulletproof. This love. It is. And maybe I’m afraid of going back to ordinary, after being so deeply, firmly in the extraordinary; the miraculous. Placed and preserved. Each beam of light and beam of their eyes and smiles. So many dreams come true.

As if it’s anything but dizzyingly extraordinary to watch your own heart grow with each beat.

“You shoot me down, but I won’t fall
I am titanium
You shoot me down, but I won’t fall
I am titanium”

“Titanium” was song #34 on our birthing playlist.