On motherhood //
Oh, how wildly unprepared I was for you.
I dreamt of this my whole life, but it has still taken me by storm. The intense love mixed with anxiety and fear. The sheer joy combined with pure exhaustion and sadness. The most confusing combination of high highs and low lows.
When you want nothing else but for me to hold you, and my arms are so tired from rocking you, trying to get those tiny lids to close, I look into your eyes and my world stops—you are my world now.
Part of me mourns the life I used to have, the person I used to be. It’s bittersweet to know my life will never be just mine again. And while it is my greatest joy to now share this life with you, it is also a hard goodbye to the previous version of me.
The day you were born, a new me was born too—a version that is more unfamiliar than I could have expected. A version that is needed 24/7, a body that continues to sustain your little life, a person I don’t recognize in the mirror. I know I’ll grow to love her but it’s going to take some time. I’m not me right now. I’ll find me again, I know, but right now my focus is getting to know you.
Motherhood, you are nothing and everything I could have ever expected at once. You are beautiful and terrifying. Joyful and draining. You have taken every ounce of my energy and patience. You have taken my identity, my independence. But you have also gifted me the greatest love I’ll ever know.
I know that as long as this sweet boy is in my arms the good will forever outweigh the bad. This phase is hard but it is so, so short in the grand scheme of things. I know there will be a day when I yearn for your cries, for those tiny hands reaching out for me, for the way you fit perfectly in the crook of my arms, for how my presence alone can calm you, and for how I am able to meet all your needs and ease all your worries. So I let myself feel it all, remind myself the bad makes the good that much sweeter. And I hold you a little closer, a little bit tighter, and feel a little piece of me come back to life.