Finally Embracing Motherhood

 Right after Henry was born, my father-in-law asked Matt, "Could you ever imagine yourself loving anything more than him?" I remember feeling so thankful that he hadn't asked me the same question. I knew I was supposed to say that I could never imagine myself loving anything more than my newborn son, but, honestly, I didn't even know my newborn son. Yes, I was overwhelmed with gratitude that he arrived safely in our lives, and I was overcome by the sheer miracle of the universe replicating itself through my own body, but I didn't immediately love Henry the way I grew to love my life partner, Matt, or even our trusty bloodhound, Hoss.

I am finally--after sixteen months--coming to a place where I can begin to say, "My life is definitively better with a child in it." 

Even as I type that thought, the guilt floods in. What if Henry reads this post when he's older and gets the wrong impression? What kind of mother am I if it took me sixteen months to fully embrace motherhood? What will all of you "real" mothers think--the ones who were immediately able to elevate having children to the most precious place in your life? 

But this is the truth for me, and it needs to be said in case it falls on some mother's ears who also took a longer path to the Joy of Motherhood. Matt and I are finally at a place where the sheer work that it takes to raise a child is balanced by the sheer pleasure. Henry is a sweet, sweet boy--he always has been. But now he communicates with us. He says "mama?" when he wants something to eat or wants me to help him put on a hat (his favorite is the shower cap featured above) or wants a drink from my water bottle. He likes to do big work, like carrying around a child-sized rake or flipping over the ottoman. He can put his banana peel in the compost and carry his breakfast to the table. We like to sit side-by-side on the step in the backyard, looking for birds, picking up sticks, and waiting for our neighbor Patty to come outside. 

Although I wish it hadn't taken me 16 months to come to this place, I don't blame myself for taking so long to get here. It is what it is. I can't change the way I feel or will myself into a different state of being. Instead, I have focused my attention on the actions of joyful motherhood. I spent a full year with Henry all day long, breastfeeding him every 3-4 hours, singing him songs, taking him outside to stare at trees as mobiles, trekking to museums/playdates/swimming pools/parks, smiling at him and telling him I love him. Matt and I nearly always respond to his demands with patience and grace. We modify our schedules to meet his needs for routine and rest. We read him books constantly. 

As I prepare to give birth to a second child (in January), I imagine that my transition into expanded motherhood will be even more difficult. Matt and I are intentionally trying to space our children close together for a variety of personal reasons, none of which will actually make the act of raising two young children any easier. It feels like we're at complete capacity right now. I feel like I sprint, sprint, sprint and then pass the baton to Matt while I double over on the ground, frantically trying to catch my breath. With our second child, there will be no tag-teaming, no easy passing of the baton. We will go from "two on one" to "two on two" or even--shutter--"one on two." 

In the low moments (or low year? or years?), I will remind myself that the days are long, but the years are short. I will also come back to this quote from this article:

I think parenting young children (and old ones, I've heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave, adventurous souls try it because they've heard there's magic in the climb. They try because they believe that finishing, or even attempting the climb are impressive accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the pain and drudgery, the views are breathtaking. They try because even though it hurts and it's hard, there are moments that make it worth the hard. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning, almost immediately, to climb again. Even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous, exhausting, killer. That they literally cried most of the way up.

I won't get angry or disappointed about what I do or do not feel. Instead, I will focus on what I do and the kind of mother I am for my two children. That's the very best I can do.

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