Motherhood is the absolute weirdest thing. When I first became a mama, I swear I really couldn’t see an end to the constant nursing sessions, the worry over the duration and frequency of my baby’s sleep, the continual state of fatigue. I thought I was miserable. I thought I wanted my life back. I’ve briefly mentioned before that I probably had some PPD for a few months after my daughter was born. I was not a nice person. My emotions were all over the place, the lack of sleep was just making me mean, and I felt like a milk-making shell of my former self. I vividly remember looking at myself in the bathroom mirror the day we came home from the hospital and literally jumping with fright because I did not recognize the person looking back at me. I thought I physically looked like a different person. It was probably a combination of post natal weight loss (I lost like 19 pounds that first couple of weeks after only gaining 14 with the baby), hormones, and residual drug hangover from the almost full-body anesthesia I received during my c-section. Whatever it was, it was the weirdest feeling in the world. I just felt like I wasn’t me. Those first few months were a whirlwind, but they also seemed to drag on forever.
I was thinking about this the other day, how each week was a milestone with a new baby, and seven more days felt like an eternity. Each week seemed like it brought so much change with her, and she grew so fast. Every week, every month, felt like a birthday. In the span of her short life on earth so far, a month was pretty much her whole life. It was like time was soooo slow those first few months while I was in them, but now looking back, they felt fast. It’s funny how we remember things differently after the fact than how they felt at the time. Is this some sort of God-given gift (curse?) so that we won’t remember how horrible it was and do it again? I’ve heard many women talk about this phenomenon. In John 16:21, Jesus says, “When a woman is giving birth, she has sorrow because her hour has come, but when she has delivered the baby, she no longer remembers the anguish, for joy that a human being has been born into the world.” It’s always been a thing. When I got to the hospital after my water broke, the nurses were working on me and talking to me, and I looked at my husband, terrified, and said, “I don’t want to do this anymore. I changed my mind.” It was the scariest thing I’ve ever done. No amount of reading, talking with people, learning, could have really prepared me for what I was getting ready to experience. I was terrified. And yet, women have been doing the exact same thing since the beginning. And they’ve had sorrow because their hour has come, just like I did. And then they forgot all about that when their tiny, precious human life is in their hands.
Anyway, this whole post started because I recently saw a picture of myself holding my sweet girl, who was only a few months old. If you had asked me at the time that picture was taken, I would have told you I had never been more miserable in my life. I was tired, I was constantly worried about everything, I hated breastfeeding (which made me feel terrible, persistent guilt), I had no clue who I was outside of feeding, changing, and sleeping. Sure, I loved my sweet girl more than anything, but I was miserable. But looking at myself in that picture, I’ve never looked happier. Now that I look back, I long for that feeling of being needed every second of every day. I miss being able to fully nourish my child with my own body. I was so happy and I didn’t even know it. I know that makes zero sense, and to someone who’s not a mama, it may be incomprehensible. But that’s what motherhood is. And I suspect it’s still happening. I said the other day that I know these are the “good old days.” I know I’ll long for these days again, just as I long for those first miserable moments of motherhood. Even though right now it feels like I’m dredging through the days, I’ll realize I was happy. Ugh, it’s so hard. Really living in the moment is so hard. Appreciating what we have right now is sometimes so hard. But if we want to live a joyful life, it’s exactly what we need to do. Choosing joy is the hard thing, but the best thing.
Edited to add that as I reread this post to publish it tonight, I needed the reminder. Sweet girl has had some especially rough days recently – she’s been obstinate, rude, forgotten her manners, yelled, skipped naps, gone to bed late… all the things. These are the days, even when they are hard.
coffeemamabogie 