Becoming a mother was an overwhelming experience, to say the least. During my pregnancy, I read every book and took every class I could find. I knew about childbirth, but I had no idea about the complexity of what was coming how massive it would be, how much I would lose of myself. No book or class could prepare me for that.
When I first saw my baby, I couldn’t believe it. He had just come out of me. Not because of his size he wasn’t particularly big but because I had grown him, I had created him inside of me. But, if I’m being honest, it often felt more like he took over my body. Once he decided to stay, grow, and be born, I was just along for the ride, with no control over my changing body. That was the first thing that scared me the realization that I couldn’t even control myself. We like to believe we can control our own lives, but pregnancy showed me that was a myth.
So there I was, holding my 7lb 11oz baby in my arms, with no clue what came next. I had studied pregnancy and birth, but I hadn’t prepared for the 18-plus years that followed. I felt an overwhelming instinct to protect him, to feed him, but love? That came later. At first, he seemed like an alien completely helpless and fragile. I was never the gentle type; I broke dishes regularly while washing them, and now I had to keep this tiny, delicate human alive. How was I even trusted to do this? Didn’t the doctors and nurses see my fear? But they smiled as they did their checks, as if the terror in my eyes was just part of the process.
Once we were home, the chaos set in. Feedings and diaper changes, trying and failing to find time to rest. No time to think straight, no time to just be. Life went from a quiet routine, sometimes bordering on boredom, to a whirlwind of never-ending demands. In the blink of an eye, my days shifted from "What do I want to do today?" to "What does this day require of me?" and, hopefully, I would find time to eat. That whirlwind didn’t slow down for years. Just as things began to settle, I found out I was pregnant again. I thought I knew what to expect this time, but raising a toddler and being pregnant was a whole new challenge.
The routine repeated feedings, changings only this time, my older child was mostly left in front of the TV in the chaos. Before this, he rarely watched TV; it was all about nature, books, and wooden toys. But with two kids and no outside help, everything shifted, and I felt guilty. No one told me I was failing, but it felt like I was. The other parents in my natural parenting groups must have seen it, right? I started to feel like a fraud, ashamed of who I had become. How could I face those families with their perfect, wholesome lifestyles when I couldn’t even keep my kids away from the TV? So I distanced myself, retreating into my small, lonely world with my two kids. My husband was there, but only part-time.
In those rare quiet moments, I longed for the days before children days when I could sleep in, go grocery shopping without a toddler in tow, wear clothes that were trendy and practical, and do whatever I wanted. I missed the freedom of being able to call out of work just to watch TV and lounge around. The thought of doing anything spontaneous felt impossible now.
I wanted to be me again, but everything felt so far out of reach. I felt disconnected from the world. No friends to hang out with, no money to pay a sitter for a date night, no clothes to wear even if I did have those things. I felt like I was invisible to the outside world. The exhaustion drained me, and soon the days, weeks, and months blurred together.
I tried to find joy in the mundane, even looked to meditation, thinking it might help me find peace. But the stillness only bored me more. I wanted excitement. I needed adventure, not calm. And so, once again, I felt like a failure. Another thing I couldn’t make work. How did I get out of this hole? Well, I didn’t exactly.
What I’ve come to realize is that life doesn’t always follow the path we expect. When we try to plan everything out, we often end up disappointed. That was my issue. I was upset because life didn’t unfold the way I had envisioned. What I’ve learned is that I need to let go of the life I thought I would have and embrace the one I’m living. Thirteen years later, I’m still learning to grieve the life I lost the one I thought was possible before I became a mother. I’m slowly learning to accept that the person I was and the life I dreamed up aren’t coming back. But that’s okay. The life I have now is full of unexpected opportunities and adventures I never could have imagined. Maybe, just maybe, they’ll turn out to be even better than anything I had planned for myself.
This is purely fiction as I am not a mother.
Thanks for stopping by.