Dear Maya,

On your first birthday today, I wanted to let you know this:

Your father and I always wanted to have two children. We thought it would make sense as you could grow up together not turning into some spoiled rotten brats. Though your cousin Pheona proved it’s not necessarily true.

Having your brother, we thought we knew about parenthood, at least intellectually. We are good parents. We will always meet our children’s needs. Therefore we had you way before we could marginally handle your brother. And for the first few months since you were born, I felt like I was fighting a losing battle. Because taking care of two young children isn’t about understanding things intellectually. It’s about a full-fledged belly-flop into a giant hole filled with anxiety and depression – an overshadowing emotional spiral that makes coping with anything nearly impossible.

My daily life was torture. I worked my ass off to maintain your routine, to complete loads of laundry, to cope with your father’s not being around, to control my emotion, I wanted to throw up all day long. Everyday was a bad day. Days when you were so fussy that I had to be constantly pacing and rocking back and forth to make sure you didn’t start crying, I felt so exhausted that I would sob uncontrollably. Days when I got to prepare dinner that you had to be by yourself, and your screams sickened me so bad that I had to walk away to yell and cry to regain myself. Days when your brother had to be out of the house as I wasn’t capable to take care of you both. Days when anxiety robbed me of any sleep you allowed me. Days when I couldn’t see leaving the house ever again. Days when fighting never stopped cause I didn’t think your father did good enough. Days when I struggled to make it from hour to hour. Days when I only saw hopelessness and frustration and an overwhelming sense of failure.

I’m telling you this because one day you will become a mother. And I think it’s important to be honest and let you know that the whole motherhood thing is not easy. This is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. And just look at what I did to my mother.

But then there were good days. Days when my emotional blues subsided and the weather got better. Days when the sun came up, your mile-wide smile welcomed me. Days when I saw your cheeks grew fuller overnight. Days when you threw out a word or two. Days when I decided to look back on this time fondly and remember your smiles, not your screaming. Days when I felt strong enough to handle this job. Days when I slowly got out of the bed and did it another day.

Days when everyone tells me you are a good baby because you’ve really become a good baby. Days when I watch you play all by yourself while I am writing this.

During the three weeks being away from you, your father and I had been worrying if you would forget about us. And you didn’t seem to remember your father the first time you saw him coming back. But you know what you did when you saw me? You spread your arms and wanted me to hold you. And once you were put in my arms, you brightened up like a sun-flooded room. I almost broke out into tears.

I’d say you should become a mother just for this reason alone.

We lucked out and didn’t get the worst baby. But one day you may roll that dice and get the grumpy baby, and oops, there goes the rest of your life.