Dear Daisy, A Year of Being Your Mama

a birthday party on film and finding the words for a mother's love

Writing with Jesus is a reader-supported publication where laughter is found, tears are shed, and faith is made steadfast. Writings on wrestling with God, motherhood, and some comedy to lighten the mood.

Daisy’s 1st birthday party on film

Dear Daisy,

A year of being your mama.

A year of snuggles, of kisses, of breastfeeding, of staring at your little face and those eyes that first blinked at me when I placed you on my chest.

A year of diapers, of crying spells (from you and me both), of early mornings watching the glittering sun rise between the trees before the world seems awake, of earlier mornings in the pitch black praying you would go back to sleep.

A year of co-sleeping and then not co-sleeping, of wishing you would sleep by yourself and then wishing I could wake up to your wandering little fingers poking mama’s face just one more time, your clapping hands and bright smile staring up at me first thing in the morning.

A year of love, so much love it terrifies me, a love that reminds me of our Heavenly Father, of Jesus hanging on the cross. I understand more now, I have often thought to myself.

I am overwhelmed by how to describe the first year of motherhood. Is there anything more nuanced? More joyful. More testing. More sacrificial. More transformative. In every physical, mental, emotional way. We are forever changed. I see pictures of myself before pregnancy and birth and she seems so young, so…different. Because she is. I hardly recognize her. She was a maiden. And I am your mama.

“Motherhood is not for the weak,” me and my fellow mama friends say to one another, each with eyes wide, exhausted still, somehow, in some way, still picking up the pieces of who we were, who we have become, full of love, the fierce kind, the kind you’d willingly do it all again for.

And yet I have never felt more like myself in my entire life than when I became your mama. I’ve never felt more joy, more peace, like I’m doing exactly what the Lord created me to do. I used to say in my 20’s that I had all this love to give and nowhere to put it. And giving birth to you made it as clear as a cloudless sky. I was made to be your mama. I always was. Praise Jesus.

Daddy and I look at each other and say we want more. We laugh and are in disbelief of how crazy we sound. What a tornado of a year it has been, almost two if you count the nine months I carried you in my womb. And yet it all makes sense. This love that we have for you, for parenthood, for your future siblings, Lord willing, is all worth it. Oh, Daisy girl a thousand times worth it and then some. I’d do it all again in a heartbeat. Daddy would, too. You are loved that much.

Before you were born, there were prophetic words spoken over you by many people. I see them coming to pass already. Praise God. He is with you. Emmanuel. Thank you, Jesus.

I remember so vividly the first time you smiled at me, the real kind, not the passing gas kind. You were four weeks old, snuggled in my chest in a carrier, at the airport coming home from a wedding that daddy was a handsome groomsman in. How my heart sang with bliss seeing the corners of your mouth lift up at me for the first time.

People said we were nuts for taking a newborn and newly postpartum mama on a plane and to a wedding. I breastfed you in the bathroom, my dress soaked with milk by the end of the night, and we danced the night away, the three of us. Oh, Daisy it was lovely. I can hardly remember the challenges. What I do remember is watching the sun rise over the ocean with you in my arms every morning on that trip, not yet healed from birth, not yet having processed that I was a mom, and with a completely full heart, with more love for you and daddy than I could have ever imagined.

I remember the first time you giggled. 8 weeks old on a road trip to Gigi and Papa’s house, parked at a McDonald’s parking lot to have some breastmilk. How my heart leapt and danced with joy.

And every day since it has been my aim to make you laugh, to fill you with joy, to hear that squeaky giggle, that high pitched cackle, the sound that makes even the worst day blessing-filled. Even tonight, before placing you in your crib, I held you up high over my head, nuzzled your belly, and you curled over leaning your face into mine, the widest sleepiest smile left in you for the day, and I whispered, “Mama loves you. I love you,” before setting you down for the night.

How you love to dance my love, and how you love music and books and animals and water. Clapping and high fives and people and smiling and waving at every person you see. You bounce up and down, giddy with excitement when we say the names of your little baby friends. And when you see cheese.

I love you so much Daisy, it seems there aren’t enough words in the English language to describe it. Perhaps I should look to Spanish or Japanese or Persian. They might be more poetic. Surely there must be more words to explain this love. To think it is only a taste of the Father’s.

So please accept this jumbled mess of my mama heart, every minute I have spent with you feeding from my bosom these last 12 months, every middle of the night cradling of you in my arms, every tickle, every kiss, every prayer, every moment staring at you and wondering how something so beautiful could possibly be real. You, with your dark golden hair, your chocolatey almond eyes, your perfect ears and cheeks and knees and hands.

You are the heart that beats outside of my chest, the life that was born out of mine, a wonder, a joy, evidence of God’s providence and redemption, His image, His affection. I can never not think of you. You are covered in prayer, under the blood of Christ and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, cherished and adored, our treasured possession, just as the Lord calls us, forever pursued, protected within our ministry, only by His grace, His power. Without which, we could do nothing. Without which, we would brutally fail.

I love you, Daisy. Or maybe it is better to say, I am holding you all the days of my life, in my arms until you are too big, on my lap until you are too heavy, in my heart forever, which will only stretch to fit more of you, and then some. My sweetie girl. My daughter. My love.

Love Always,

Mama

Katie Donohue Tona

If you liked this post, you might also like:

Dear Daisy (& Readers)

Dear Daisy, I didn't have an identity crisis when I became your mom

---

If you’d like to financially support my work for $5.00 USD per month, from the depths of me, thank you.

Everything pertaining to the sharing of the Gospel on Writing with Jesus is free. There are a handful of benefits as a paid subscriber, but all I truly have to give you in return is my sincere gratitude and giddy excitement that you decided to support financially.

For Paid Subscribers, here’s how I love to say thank you:

• Occasional paid subscriber ONLY posts

• (For Substack users with a publication) A special shout out in our international community chat showcasing your publication simply because we love writers supporting writers.

• For Annual Subscribers (SAVE $10.00 USD) and Founding Members ($51.00+ USD): lifetime access to a catalog of downloadable poster prints to decorate your home and Bible study workbooks (COMING SOON). Check out some examples here!

Feel free to access your paid subscription from the button below.

Or if you’d like to give just one time, feel free to click the button below.

And for a little more about the person behind the screen, head over here! About Page