The Paradox of Parenting
A bittersweet farewell to my maternity leave
My baby turns 6 months old on Sunday. Next week, she’ll go to daycare and I’ll start work.
I cannot believe that we are here … and yet, here we are. Somehow.
How? How did we get here?
What do I have to show for the past HALF YEAR of my existence?
Enough dirty diapers to fill a dumpster, still sore nipples, an achy back and not-quite-right pelvis, a freezer full of breast milk and a fridge overrun with purees, endless late-night google searches asking “how to get your baby to sleep through the night”, a gallon of snot sucked from her nose, mountains of laundry and poop-stained onesies, at least one hundred abandoned cups of coffee, too many unanswered texts, countless half-baked ideas and unfinished projects.
Oh, and my healthy, spunky baby girl.
And a love for her that grows by the day.
I haven’t been able to sit down and write in quite some time, but I’d be lying if I said it was all Margo’s fault (I guess a fair assessment would be that it’s 80% her fault, 20% my own lack of self-discipline).
My (extended) maternity leave is coming to an end and I am not ready. I had a long list of things that I wanted to accomplish before returning back to work, and I have done almost none of them. Or I’ve started and neglected them, like the blanket that I began crocheting for my daughter which presents as a ball of yarn with a few stitches attached– a reminder of all the things left undone.
Partly, I underestimated the overwhelming duties of childcare and how much time and energy this little one would take from me. I’m not sure when I expected to accomplish these tasks … maybe I assumed she would nap or entertain herself for long stretches of time, neither of which have happened on a regular basis.
Every day of parenting feels like riding a roller coaster through thick fog. You can’t see where you’re going, so there’s no way to anticipate or brace yourself for the inevitable ups and downs. Your brain feels scrambled from the constant jolting and interruptions imposed by your tiny new boss.
Since trying to write this essay, I’ve have had to jump up 5 times to tend to the babe. I attempted to put her down for a nap before I sat down, but she had other ideas. She cooed and played with her feet in the swing for about 40 minutes until she started fussing, so I took her out, held her and bounced her, then put her on her play mat, where she was content for about 15 minutes. Then she rolled over, yelling, so again I got up to pop her paci in her mouth and turned on Micky Mouse Clubhouse (go ahead and judge me), which entertained her for another 10 minutes. After that short stint I picked her up again and we looked out the window for a little while. Then a diaper change, play time, book reading, another feeding, and nap take #2. Hopefully we are successful this time but I’m not counting on it.
And so it goes with motherhood. Everything feels scattered and disjointed with all the starting and stopping and looping around to the point where I don’t even remember what I was trying to write about, or why. Which maybe is a long-winded excuse for my not writing, but it’s the truth.
But something keeps drawing me back to the page; I can’t not do it. I want to remember this time, to capture its essence in writing so that I can relive it later once this state of sleep-deprived motherhood is behind me.
If I had to sum up the past 6 months in two words it would be these:
hard & holy.
HARD:
Hard comes first because, well, it is hard. Harder than I ever expected. Harder than anyone can convey. It’s the kind of hard that you really can’t understand until you walk through it yourself.
I’ve always thought of myself as tough, and I’ve prided myself on doing hard things in life. I have competed as a college athlete, moved across the country (twice), gotten a master’s degree, run a marathon, battled OCD and anxiety and depression. And all of it pales in comparison to the challenge of motherhood.
They said it would get easier, and honestly– I think that’s bullshit. It doesn’t get easier. Parenting is hard all the way through because these babies keep changing on us, becoming new right before our eyes day after day. As soon as you have one thing figured out, something else changes– knocking over the rest of the routines like dominoes so you have to start over. You have never parented this child before and you’ll always be learning as you go– trial and error.
Don’t believe anyone that tells you that they know what they’re doing. They don’t. And if they think they do, odds are they aren’t paying attention. Parenting is just one big game of “fake it til you make it” but you never actually “make it.” Instead, you get to watch your baby grow and see their eyes light up and share in their joy and wonder, so we call it enough.
It doesn’t get easier, but your love for them grows. So over time the love feeling lessens the blow of the hard stuff a little bit, I suppose.
HOLY:
I’m not a religious person (not anymore, anyway) but this work of mothering is holy, meaning that it is divine and spiritual in its own right. This is something that I couldn’t see early on in my mothering journey, but now that the shock is wearing off, I can appreciate the miracle that is fostering life into this world. I can feel myself growing, learning and changing right alongside my baby girl and it is awe-inspiring. The connection that I feel to her is unparalleled, and even though my days of caring for her feel inconsequential, I look into her blue-hazel saucer eyes and I just know it’s important. This work of mothering is significant and it’s enough, despite how others may view my surface-level lack of productivity.
I hug her close and feel her baby-soft cheek against mine, the sweet smell of her hair mixed with a touch of sour milk. She pulls her sticky wet fingers from her mouth and reaches up around my neck, taking a tiny fistful of my hair. I squeeze her tighter, encircling her little body and admiring the way we fit together so perfectly with her head tucked under my chin. I whisper “you’re all mine,” into her ear, chuckling because even as the words leave my lips I know how untrue they are.
Baby girl, you are not mine. I had the honor of carrying and guiding you into the world, and now I have the privilege of helping you grow into the person that you were meant to be. You are a child of the universe, belonging to no one but yourself. You are your own person.
And yet, I relish in the joy of being your mama, such a big part of your life’s journey. Right now I am your whole world, but soon you’ll see how big and beautiful the world really is, and you’ll begin the lifelong process of finding your way in it. For now, though, your biggest smiles and loudest laughs are reserved for me. How lucky am I?
Am I ready to go back to work? Yes and no. Mothering is part of my new identity, but it’s not the only part. Although it has taken center stage for the past half-year, there are other parts of myself that I’m looking forward to reconnecting with. I’m excited to make space for writing again and hopefully (finally) finish the book that’s living inside me. I’m looking forward to workouts and runs that aren’t cut short by a little one in my periphery. I’m eager to model for my girl what it means to not lose yourself; to show her that it’s possible to be a great woman and wife and mom without becoming a martyr.
In the same breath, I am sad that this chapter of motherhood with my firstborn is ending. My days will no longer revolve around feeding and comforting and playing and snuggling. I’ll miss the slowness of these days, when the biggest to-do was laying outside on the deck and staring up at the trees and clouds together.
As Majka Burhardt says in her new book More: Life on the Edge of Adventure and Motherhood:
“I have work I want to do.
I feel I am going to miss the best parts of you. I don't want to miss a thing, but trying to work and care for you without any help makes me feel crazy–and maybe that constant tension between the things we want to do and the things we need to do is the crux of motherhood …
I want to be present.
I want to enjoy you. I want to do things by myself and create powerful things in the world.
I don’t know how this is all going to work out, but we’re trying to do it.”
The monotony of new motherhood forces you to notice the details. Exiting “babyland” (as my mom calls it) and returning to a structured schedule and faster pace is bittersweet.
I’m nervous about daycare, about managing my time and prepping bottles and pumping and getting out the door on time. I’m nervous about leaving my baby for the first time for so many hours, knowing that she’ll cry and miss me. I’m nervous about balancing and holding all of these new roles and responsibilities.
But as one chapter of our story is closing, a new one is beginning. And this is the paradox of parenting: the ever present ebb and flow. Desperately wishing for the hard days to pass, and then longing for them again once they’ve gone. Rinse and repeat.
Please forgive the abrupt ending, typos and erratic nature of this piece! As is only fitting, I finish these last few sentences with a baby in my lap. Thank you for reading. I hope that you found something worthwhile here. As I continue to practice showing up in my mothering, I will also keep showing up in my writing– sharing posts before I’m ready, knowing that they aren’t perfect and being ok with that.
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