Motherhood is a series of goodbyes.
Goodbye to the growth of bulbous self, goodbye to dry tops and the schedule you thought was human norm,
Then goodbye to nursing bras and bottle parts and special pillows and worries about first steps
Goodbye to diapers, goodbye to the teething drops once stored in duplicates in every cabinet and the glove box and each bag that might leave the house, suddenly forgotten and no longer needed, goodbye to one size shoe and then another, even the ones so laughably big they'd never grow into
Goodbye the screeching stage and the clinging stage and the early bedtimes and the scribbled indiscernible pictures full of heartfelt meaning that you must not throw away
Goodbye to first days and first goodbyes, to teeth and to temper tantrums over silly things that make you puff your checks and raise your eyebrows with futile attempts to curb a laugh
Goodbye to carseats and stools to reach the faucet and constant requests for help with bread and jam.
Motherhood is a serious of goodbyes unspoken, already overtaken by the next moment which seems to never end