Before Freya was born, I had almost zero experience with babies or small children. I don’t have younger siblings or close cousins, I didn’t babysit much and when I did, I didn’t enjoy it. I have never been the type who LOVES CHILDREN, etc. But I knew it would be different when I had my own. I think I’m kind of like Miranda on “Sex and the City”, who seems very un-motherly until, that is, her own child is born.

What I didn’t know was how much I would change when it comes to my view on children. I still don’t love all kids I meet or melt every time I’m around a toddler. That’s probably part of my own childhood detachment disorder, which I continue to rebuild daily with Freya.

But being around her… wow. It really can make a bad day better. Hearing her voice, feeling her tiny hand gently rub my arm, watching her run around with Kona, laughing with delight… makes me wonder how anyone doesn’t feel this lift in their soul when they are with their own children. Yes, she can be frustrating sometimes and she does throw food on the floor and color on the furniture with her crayons and so on, but those are tiny, minor complaints that are lost among all the great times we have together and all the joy and fulfillment I experience in watching her grow and learn.

And so I am transformed from a person who used to either not “see” children in my environment, and perhaps be a little irritated by them (though I know more recently that was part of my intense jealously that others could get pregnant and I could not), into a mother who wants to be around her own daughter every day and every night, to give her everything she needs, to help her every time she asks, to play with her and engage with her at every opportunity. I’m not grossed out by her poops or her snot or her ear wax. I don’t resent her for being the reason I gave up my job and my fancy lifestyle. She has been completely worth it to me.

Yesterday in Sequim at Dungeness Spit