There comes a time every day (twice per day on weekends when
Allie naps at home) that the sole obstacle preventing me from living my best
life (read: sitting on the couch watching Netflix, eating a snack without
sharing, or maybe crossing something off my never-ending list) is a miniature
human asleep on my lap. Looking down at
her tiny sleeping face, serene and relaxed, it is a surprisingly difficult
struggle to put her down. Part of it is
the vulnerability in her sleeping form – she is completely defenseless and
trusting that the mom who rocked her to sleep will keep the world safe until
she awakes.
Holding a sleeping baby has to be one of the purest highs in
the world. Or maybe, holding your sleeping baby is… I cannot vouch
for whether the feeling translates to random babies, nor can I recommend
stealing random babies in order to determine if it is universal.
One of the beautiful complexities of motherhood can be
summed up in that moment: I look forward to when she falls asleep because then
I get to resume being completely me,
but when she finally falls asleep in my arms, I can’t rush to put her down
because it feels so good just to hold her.
It’s an identity crisis that I never expected to have.
Some women are just born to be moms… maybe I’m even one of
them, but prior to my surprise pregnancy (PSA to female readers – you’re likely
more fertile than you think) I never thought it was for me. The pain of childbirth was a deterrent,
certainly, but it was more than that. I
liked my house a certain way with breakable things on low shelves. I liked the
way my body looked. I liked my fly by the seat of my pants attitude towards
travel and adventure – I loved the freedom to book a last minute flight out of
the country or drive across several states to see my best friend because she
had a bad week. My life never felt incomplete.
Before anyone jumps down my throat, I’m still not saying that my life, pre-baby
was incomplete or that I, pre-baby, was incomplete…
It’s almost as though now, post-baby, I’m irreversibly
incomplete. Before her I was whole, and now, when myself in my
own right, I’m lacking. It’s as though an important part of me lives outside my
body.
I don’t want to romanticize it like that. I’ve seen the posts, coded in “momspeak” about
the magic of “seeing a part of your heart outside your body”, but that is not
the message I am going for here. I
completely love my daughter and I love being her mom, but I can’t honestly say
that I love mothering or that I am always okay with my new epithet being my
only descriptor.
I don’t love the endless mundanity of motherhood. There are days when I can’t wait to drop her
off at daycare and days where I consider advancing bedtime by thirty minutes
because my very sanity hangs in the balance…It’s as though I’ll never be
satisfied. I’ll miss her when she’s absent, but struggle with the role of
motherhood when she’s present. I never
stop identifying as a mom, even when she is out of the room, but it’s not as though
it fits me like a magical pair of traveling pants that I’ve spent my life waiting
for. It is a constant struggle between
wanting to be the best mom and be the best me.
I want to be put together and well-read, well-traveled. Ideally I should be fit, maintain my six-minute
mile and have time to cook healthy colorful meals. I also want to be present for her. I want her to remember that mom sat on the
floor to read her the frog book a million times, or even if she doesn’t
remember it, I want to be the cheerleader that she needs in order to learn to
read the frog book herself. I want her
to wear the instagrammable dresses and look photo-ready at a moments notice so
I can show the whole world how cute she looks to me, but at the same time I
want her to run in the grass, feed herself the acai bowl that stains everything and let her see my face
watching her instead of my camera or my phone. I want to feel pride in my
appearance and invest time in it , but I don’t want her to inherit any of my
insecurities about beauty. She certainly
doesn’t need them.
I want her to be only her and to some extent that means
holding back me… and at the same time I want to be who I want to be even if
that means living 95% of my life with a contoured face and 4 coats of mascara. How do I be the mom she deserves at the same
time being the person I deserve? How can
I be my best for her when that looks so much different than being my best
self?
I am beyond thankful to be her mother but I really struggle
on the days that I feel like I am only
her mother. This role, it means
everything to me and at the same time, it is not enough for me. In many ways it is the most important thing I
will ever do, the biggest legacy I will leave behind, so why am I surprised
when it takes all that I have to offer and still wants more.
I’m pregnant again! I
know, I know… I never even finished writing about the labor and delivery
experience from last time yet here I am, knocked up again. Remember that earlier PSA? Totally kidding,
this pregnancy was even planned… as much as you can plan something like
that.
I know what to expect this time around and in some ways,
that has made me more apprehensive. I
never intended to write a blog about my first days postpartum, mostly because
I understood I would be busy. Everyone told
me I would be tired, and they were right.
The fatigue and exhaustion, although tremendous, were certainly not
surprising. Those days are raw and
overwhelming. Everything hurts.
Everything is healing. Everything is new and fragile and stressful and amazing.
I was unprepared for the paradigm shift of becoming a
mom. In the days prior to that, when I
needed to cry, I could cry. When I was
starving, I ate. When I was tired, I slept.
I had meaningful ways to fill my time beyond meeting my own basic biological
needs, but usually when it became necessary, I was able to make them a
priority. After bringing home my tiny
screaming incessant adorable bundle of joy, my needs were relegated to the back
burner.
You coast on fumes for a lot further than you ever thought
you could. You can go without healthy
food for longer than even your college self would have liked to believe (quite
the pendulum swing from the daily food rainbow and nutrient logging of
pregnancy). You can last on even fewer
hours of sleep than a call shift… for weeks on end. Incredibly, none of it is a sacrifice. None of it takes a conscious choice – to
delay your own comfort or to calm your baby’s cries?… it’s instinctive, primal.
It happens so quickly that it is easy to
lose yourself in the new role. To feel as though that is all you are. And there were run into the problems that
prompted this dialogue in the first place.
It is love at its most basic form; tiny human needs you and
so you do. You do everything it takes to
make tiny human happy, safe, warm, content.
You mother. You do it because you want to. You do it because they are yours and you are
completely theirs. You do it day in and day out.
You do it as their needs change around you: as they learn to
smile and every moment of frustrating inconsolable cries becomes worth it, as
they learn to giggle and suddenly everything is hysterical, as they learn to
speak and call you “mama” - the name now written in your heart, as they learn
to blow kisses and say I love you and you think your heart will crack because
it is so full.
They grow and change and leave – for an hour first, as you
run to the grocery store. Then two hours
as you run to target and treat yourself to Starbucks (#momlife). Then overnight
once grandma and grandpa can handle them!
Someday it will be a week at summer camp, maybe a month long mission
trip, then years at college.
And even with everything at stake, it’s honestly not that
hard to just hold her a little longer…
while she still fits in my arms.
Cause sometimes, it feels like I could hold her forever.
