On being "Mommy"

  As I mentioned when I first started writing this blog, becoming Mommy has had an effect on me that I really can't put into words.  I had a bit of an identity crisis (still ongoing at times, to be honest).  I know I was still the same person the day after I had Kate that I was the day before her but still I felt so different.  As though I was in a dream or a movie - I was me, but in a different person's life.  I still identified with so much of myself b.b.m. (before becoming mommy) but somehow, I couldn't easily reconnect with all of those things as easily.  AND to top it off, there were now all of these new things to think (& worry) about.  

New concerns that had never even crossed my mind before.  (Seriously, did you ever concern yourself someone else's poop on a daily basis before?)  I was at such a crossroads between longing for my old sense of self (& feeling guilty for indulging in anything I did just for myself) & being willing to throw that old me away without a second look without even realizing it (shower?  why should Mommy need to shower?  baby's needs are more important that Mommy's).  

7 months down the road of Motherhood (gosh I can already see myself looking back & laughing at myself for writing this someday in the future) I still haven't fully discovered my new identity.  When I went back to work (yes, that is going to be a loooong post, still to come) I felt a bit more of the "old me" come back & though it was the hardest thing I've ever done, it almost felt good to get that little bit of myself back.  But even there, it's not the same.  Every time I have a break in between tasks/meetings/calls during my day I find myself thinking about Kate.  Looking at photos, texting my mom for an update on how she's doing (eating/teething/playing/napping/pooping).  I used to work late without batting an eye... now if I work even 15 minutes late I feel torn.  It feels great to get extra work done, but it's at the expense of enjoying my Kate time.  & heaven forbid that I schedule something for myself on the weekend.  I've had a goal to go & spend 45 minutes to run & get my nails done for the past 3 months... hasn't happened yet.  How can I abandon that treasured "family time" to do something for myself?  

(Kate & Mommy time - my favorite time of the day when I get home from work.  We even have a special "Kate & Mommy time" song that we I sing when we're together again each day. Blurry i-pad reverse camera photo that I'll cherish forever.)

 

I used to identify myself as a wife/professional/daughter/friend/blogger - now when I take a moment to think of what defines me, the first thing I think of is "Mommy".   I know I'll get back to "me" someday.  Even if "me" isn't exactly the same "me" that I left behind 7+months ago.  & I'm ok with that.  Heck, who knows - maybe she'll be a smarter/skinnier/wiser/prettier version of "me"!

Related but unrelated, I read (& cried my eyes out) this poem that one of my facebook friends shared this weekend.  The old "me" wouldn't normally share this kind of thing & the new "mommy" doesn't really love sharing it without knowing the proper source either, but my permanent postpartum sentimental soft heart can't not put this out there for all of you to read too...

 It will change your life. Author Unknown. Image by Anna Sawin Photography

"We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family." "We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations." But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in child prep classes.

I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her.

That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moments hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother.

Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself.

That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give herself up in a moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years, not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor.

My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks.

I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child.

I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike.

I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time.

I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say. Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings."

xoxo

p.s. ( I did do a quick search & believe that this quote is attributed to Dale Hanson Bourke & appeared in the Chicken Soup for the Expectant Mother's Soul - which I'm sure is a complete tear-jerking book.  Not that an expectant Mom needs anymore provoking reasons to cry!)

p.p.s. Are you crying along with me now?