In honor of Mother’s Day approaching, here is my attempt at using words to convey images of what motherhood has been like for me over these past few months. This piece has been in the works for a while now, so it’s time for me to let it fly– imperfections and all. It’s a bit repetitive and spindly, and the order doesn’t make sense, but that parallels my experience of being a mama so far. Here goes nothing!
Motherhood is:
Playing Tetris on the top rack of the dishwasher with pump parts, bottles, and baby food containers.
Oh - and those tiny silicone cups I bought last week (but I’m finally washing now for the first time) to practice drinking water and using a straw.
Wait, should I sanitize those?
Google: how do you teach a baby to drink from a cup and use a straw?
It’s smiley face slippers because I need that reminder to smile, and staying in my drooled-on jammies all day long.
It’s carrot-stained bibs and grabbing a burp cloth to wipe the snot but realizing it’s already cakey and full of dried spit up (I think? Or was the dog chewing on it?)
It’s going for a beach walk while my mom watches the baby and remembering being pregnant this time last year, and how much freedom I still had.
It’s another goodbye and back to the reality of doing this motherhood thing on my own.
It’s dropping her off at daycare and leaving a piece of yourself there with her.
It’s always feeling like I’m in two places at once; not able to be fully present unless I’m with her.
It’s unpacking and repacking the diaper bag, finding dirty bottles that I forgot to clean out (again).
It’s always forgetting something when I leave the house, usually a nursing cover.
But she thrashes out of it anyway, so it doesn’t do much good.
Do people still get offended if they see breastfeeding in public? Why is this taking up space on the long list of things that I have to worry about?
It’s pumping and pumping and more pumping, cursing my body for not making more than 2 oz at a time, but trying not to stress about it because that decreases the supply.
It’s wondering if I should stop nursing altogether, even though I don’t want to - but is all this worth it?
Wait, do I even like nursing? Or am I just doing it to prove something? Prove what? To who?
Continuing to breastfeed and pump while working is a cruel joke. How does anyone do this? It feels impossible. But thanks anyway for the free breast pump, insurance …
It’s obsessively checking the daycare app to see if she ate her lunch and napped. It’s wondering if she misses me and trying to decide how much I miss her. Could I actually be a stay at home mom?
It’s always being preoccupied, with my baby on my mind, feeling like I’m in two places at once.
It’s watching her on the monitor, hoping she naps for more than 20-30 minutes.
It’s letting her cry it out a little, praying that this won’t damage her for life.
It’s playing the video of her dad singing hokey pokey so that she can still hear his voice while he’s gone. Will she remember him?
God, I miss him. I miss feeling taken care of by someone else. And of course I miss having the help.
Motherhood is having so many feelings and then none at all.
It’s screening positive for postpartum depression and chuckling because, of course.
It’s nostalgia for a different time and place.
It’s trying to squeeze in a workout, realizing that if I do I probably won’t have time to eat before she needs me again … am I getting enough calories to keep up my supply?
It’s a lower back that’s constantly sore from lifting a car seat and a baby and bending over to bathe and change diapers.
It’s the stroller with the wobbly wheel … when am I going to fix that?
It’s pictures of her in her cute sunhat, writing BABY SUNSCREEN on my ongoing list of things that I need from the store.
It’s mashing and mixing foods and hoping she likes the concoction (and if she doesn’t, just add banana).
It’s laughing at her faces, her hand gestures and her squeals of delight.
It’s realizing her fingernails need clipping again AFTER she scratches her face.
It’s watching the light bulb go off when she figures something out, like peek-a-boo or sitting up on her own.
It’s laying next to her on the back porch, closing my eyes and feeling so grateful for all of it. So scared about the unpredictability of it. So melancholy for the person I used to be, the time and energy I used to have. So, so tired. So in awe of her growth, my growth, and the people we are becoming.
It’s recalling the promise I made to myself that “mom” wouldn’t become my sole identity, and still trying to figure out how to balance it all.
And then laughing because: there really is no balance.
It’s wondering when i’ll feel normal or stable or like myself again. It’s coming to terms with this gigantic life shift.
It’s constant bewilderment about this whole process.
It’s re-learning how to answer the question “how are you?” without launching into a monologue about how my baby is doing.
And then recognizing that how I’m doing is directly related to how she’s doing, so that’s an entirely natural and appropriate response.
We are tethered, her and me. Inextricably linked right now. Everything that happens to her directly affects me. And I’m still adjusting to that.
It’s acknowledging that my experience of parenting this baby is (and will continue to be) different from my husband’s.
It’s looking in her eyes, admiring the slight ring of hazel around the center,
And like a ton of bricks it hits me:
She won’t be a baby forever.
And one day those enchanting eyes will belong to my adult child.
Motherhood is heating a bag of instant rice for dinner at 9pm because I didn’t have the time to eat sooner or the energy to make myself something better.
It’s surprising myself with the tunes I remember, buried deep in the recesses of my mind, when I’m singing to my screaming child as I try to bathe or change her.
It’s slumping into the couch after she’s asleep, looking at my mess of a house and being ok with it because I kept my babe healthy and well today
It’s accidentally shrinking the bottles when I tried to sanitize them, and then worrying about her exposure to “microplastics.”
Motherhood is the weirdest, wildest thrill and I am just trying to catch my breath.
It’s sweet moments sprinkled onto the hard and monotonous days like the powdered sugar on a beignet.
Motherhood is pure chaos and utter exhaustion.
It’s hating myself for letting her fall and hit her head.
It’s assuming she’s teething all the time, and excitedly checking her mouth each morning in hopes that those little white lumps have emerged.
Motherhood is waiting 6 hrs in the ER for blood work.
It’s worrying she will topple over every time I put her down to sit somewhere.
It’s buying a beach tent and a baby bike seat.
It’s becoming a human jungle gym for tiny feet to practice balancing,
Pudgy fingers exploring my face,
A toothless smile when she finds my mouth and I pretend to chomp her fingers.
Motherhood is making mistakes and having to forgive myself.
It’s catching up with a friend I haven't heard from in months,
Which perks me up
Like water to my withered spirit -
Which reminds me, I need to water the plants.
It’s trying to heal from birth trauma
Trying to connect with baby
To connect with my spouse
Trying to get it all right.
It’s finally feeling like maybe your not a kid anymore.
It’s carrying the weight of being someone’s everything.
It’s being so acutely aware of the time passing.
It’s trying to figure out how to do that not only talk and write about being a mom.
It’s wondering if this part of myself will always feel so huge, so all-consuming and immediate.
It’s wondering how the hell this stuff isn’t all that everyone talks about.
It’s frustration and anger and seething rage at a healthcare system, a government, a country that seems not to care about women.
It’s wondering again why everyone isn’t talking about this.
It’s remembering and forgetting and remembering again and forgetting again.
It’s telling yourself that your whole life will not revolve around this little person, but it does anyway.
It’s missing work for an invasive OBGYN appointment.
It’s feeling like I’m asking for too much but not being able to help it.
It’s never putting on makeup because I don’t care enough
But then comparing myself to all the other made-up ladies when I leave the house.
It’s wondering how I’m going to squeeze in (much less pay for) all of the physical and mental therapy I need.
It’s terror at the thought of being a single mom, and mad respect for all those doing it.
It’s telling myself that “tomorrow is a new day” every day for infinity.
It’s microwaving my coffee again.
It’s a teary phone call to my own mom.
It’s watching and listening to my dad make silly faces and noises on FaceTime.
It’s buying yet another pumping bra.
It’s obsessing over the temperature in her room … is that why she’s not sleeping well?
It’s never having enough pictures and videos of her on my phone.
It’s thinking about the next baby and wondering how I’m going to do this all over again.
Can my body handle it?
It’s this never-ending list because my understanding of motherhood is constantly evolving.
It’s wondering if my heart is racing because of anxiety or too much caffeine.
It’s bottle labels washing off in the dishwasher (even though they promised not to, because I bought the ones that said dishwasher safe).
Motherhood is two things can be true at the exact same time:
Like hating to drop her off at daycare but loving the time to myself.
It’s turning up the radio volume in the car when she starts crying because there’s nowhere to pull over.
It’s disappointing someone because I said “no” to an event.
It’s being so done with petty drama and feeling like I have to explain myself.
It’s letting go.
It’s crying in the car for no damn reason (but really, for all the reasons).
It’s constant overwhelm; the perpetual struggle bus.
It’s trying to get my shit together while simultaneously losing my shit.
It’s crying over spilled milk.
Motherhood is a game of “choose your hard” because there is no easy way.
It’s another frozen meal.
It’s an emergency trip to urgent care for 104.4 fever.
It’s learning to take a rectal temp.
It’s watching her, dumbfounded, as she grabs the spoon from me and starts trying to feed herself for the first time.
Motherhood means entering a club that I never knew existed;
one that gives me an uncomfortable depth of understanding with otherwise perfect strangers.
It’s finally teaching my husband how to assemble the pump parts, laughing at his failed attempts, and pointing out that I’ve been doing this myself for months … and that he should know how to do it because this is how our daughter gets fed.
Motherhood is decision fatigue.
What solids will she try today?
Should I put her down for a nap now or later?
Is she hungry again?
When is the best time to leave the house?
It’s trying to end this post in a tidy way
And giving up
Because this is motherhood:
Rambling.
Messy.
Confusing.
Glorious.
Illuminating.
Breathtaking.
Humbling.
Ongoing.
Beautiful beautiful beautiful!!!