And Just Like That, I'm a Mom

This last year sits hazy in my mind. On my birthday last year, I was barely pregnant. Walking on my own eggshells, I was so worried and anxious about it all working out. I got a pair of Doc Martin boots and ate unicorn cake before dancing with laser lights on my fingers, wondering how I could possibly get through nine more months without the booze I'd become accustomed to. More so of course during the pandemic.

I worried about swimming in the lake, timing my dips around progesterone doses, and wanted to vomit at the mention of any meat that was obviously meat (oddly hot dogs and other disgusting meat scrap combinations didn't bother me much). I was trying to maintain hope, whilst simultaneously trying to psych myself up for a negative outcome. 

A year later I'm singing songs in the park with Ollie and live each day in a bit of a stupor to be honest that this is my situation now. It's been both the most joyful and the most difficult time of my life.

Familiar Places, Parallel Life

Four months (holy cow!) into it and motherhood so far has been both totally different from what I expected, while simultaneously exactly like all of the cliches I've ever heard on the topic.  

I'm sitting at my favourite cafe with my laptop, latte, and all of the other souls writing and gabbing nearby. Where I've spent countless hours of my "life before baby." I desperately needed some space to process. To just be without a need to take care of anyone but my own harried self. I sit here in the familiarity of my old life, and keep rolling over in my head, "I have a child. I'm a mother." And it's a total trip. 

With the familiar touchpoints of my old life, it seems almost like a dream. It took me so long to get here. Infertility in all of its forms can last a long time, and then success brings with it everything, all at once. And as with any intro to parenthood, you can never really understand what's coming until it's literally in your lap. I somedays feel like I have whiplash, my life is so drastically different from even a year prior (the major house move amplifying the change, and adding to the lack of time to process). It feels jarring yet familiar at the same time.

I sat in this cafe writing a secret blog about the struggles of dating at a certain age and wanting kids and all of the fertility stuff, and now I'm sitting here on the other side of the story. Wild. 

Prepare, But Be Floored

Motherhood really is a whole lot of setup, and then a sudden cosmic shift in your life, priorities, sleep, brain, hormones...just like that. A whirlwind that I'm still trying to get a handle on (and suspect I'll always feel just a bit behind on). Trying to settle into this new world of "me" with a child and not get too lost. Learning from the lessons of those before and building in self-care, asking for what I need, and taking my downtime to prioritize things that energize me as opposed to non-necessities like a perfect face or place. Nothing beyond just getting through the actions of baby care feels easy, and I'm trying to give my productive self a break. 

I know that so many people go through this experience. But as always I find value in sharing our variations on common experiences. There is so much connection and comfort in sharing the experience of living. And it washes away some of the feelings of isolation that come from feeling like your old life doesn't really want you any longer. 

I Definitely Cried Over Spilt Milk

What a blur of love and anxiety and fear and joy and delusion those early days were. It was truly a bit of a baby-moon. It now feels like this special time that is surrounded by a glow and I am so happy Ian and I had that first two weeks in our cocoon, learning about Oliver, healing (in my case), breathing, and trying to process our new state of being. 

The comedy of errors that was trying to get breastfeeding down. The pain. The lack of supply. The tinctures. The lack of sleep leading to knocking over half-pumped bottles of milk, and promptly breaking into tears. The annoyance at my own silly-sounding baby talk and the thought that I'm not doing any of the right things. The list of things I have no idea about grows exponentially each day.

And who knew you would not lose weight but your hair instead? That your stomach after c-section would have its own shelf. That you would constantly be sweating and omit an aroma that is designed for your baby and no one else.

Some days you are thriving but many days just surviving. 

Figuring out the cries was my new life mission. Just as you think you've finally figured it all out and come up with some semblance of routine, they enter a new leap and everything changes again. You've got to be flexible, nimble and quick. A calm, roll-with-the-punches kind of gal. 

At the start, I really sort of felt like that pigeon woman from Home Alone 2 (best movie). 

I felt that my body wasn't my own. I was being pecked at from every corner, covered in shit, didn't have time to shower or breathe deeply and I barely recognized myself. 

I found such comfort in Mom dramedies like "working moms" and the "let down", My new lockdown binge-fest. 

I also had no idea how many people struggled but didn't share it. That actually felt guilty or shameful sharing it. And also how many people had extra help. There is so much to read and learn and definitely not enough time. I asked my doctor for sleep strategies, and she recommended three books. Who has time to read three books on sleep alone?!  So managing the influx of information, research, etc. has been a major task. Never mind trying to find a daycare late as we moved to a new hood. 

"You Do You" Has Never Felt More True

I am on a few parenting groups on Facebook, and it's crazy how man posts start with "No judgment please, I'm doing my best/I'm a first-time mom/I feel bad enough already." I had no idea the "parenting culture" was so strong. That there would be so many opinions and judgments. In general, I love different viewpoints as it feels nearly impossible to research everything. So I rely on experts or those that have done it before, and merge that with my instincts. But there are a surprising number of unsolicited, judgement-filled comments that I had a really hard time ignoring at the start.

I see a therapist who recommended a book called 'impossible parenting" and I'm loving the approach to parenting that is "family-centred" vs "child-centred." Figuring what works best for the entire family unit, and implementing that. 

And as for all of that "we did it this way and you should too" type comments, my new response is "I'm really happy that worked for you!"

How are you doing, really?

So many people have asked recently how I'm doing. They ask after Ollie of course, but I'm so grateful for the recognition that it feels like I'm living in the early days after a hurricane. I got a massage the other day and was chatting with another woman in the changing room. Within minutes we'd both shared our current struggles. When she found out I was a new mom, the first thing she said was "How are you doing? How are you feeling about everything?" And I almost broke into tears. She went on to say that she'd been at the C-level in her career, and had recently been helping one of her children with childcare and that it was so hard. This feeling of being a taskmaster, in a constant loop of mundane activities that never end. 

But even more amazing than the "How are you doing?' questions are the random "You're doing great comments." It is really the best thing to hear. 

Mother is a Verb

It takes time to be a mother I'm finding. Biological motherhood is one thing, and feeling and acting like a mother another thing entirely. They almost don't connect in my brain. My whole state of being right now is similar to my c-section scar. Tender and numb at the same time. I'm somewhat dissociated. The old me looking in and going "What the heck are you doing? You're such an imposter!" I feel raw in every way. My emotions, my scar, my constantly sore boobs. Though I'm starting to see more of myself in this new world. 

I'm trying to build in little things that energize me and prioritizing them. Learning to be more efficient with short chunks of time. Like in the middle of the night when pumping.  And letting go of things being settled before moving on to the next. These days make-up is never done. I'm constantly sweating and look it. I got to a dinner the other day and realized I'd travelled the entire subway ride with a large spot of puke on my dress and an oat on my chin (man I missed my mask at that point). 

Waking up in Amazement

But it's all worth it of course. Just like everything worthwhile in life, there is of course hard work and sacrifice. Oliver continues to entertain. His smiles and new laugh could weld together a broken heart. I'm obsessed with his cross-eyed focus as he discovers how his hands can link together in front of his face. His excitement when he narrows in on your face in the morning. The joy he finds in moving his limbs. 

He wakes up each day in amazement, a reminder that we all should have this view on the day. The miracle of it all. He (more cliches here) really does make me want to be a better version of myself for him. And of course to contribute to a better version of the world and humanity that he can exist within. I want what’s best for him intensely and I feel guilty for bringing him into a world on fire. 

Who Am I?

They took some candids of us at my mommy group the other day, and there was this young mother who had her beautifully long hair tied in a ponytail with soft curls. Her face looked effortlessly made up, her belly flat, and she breastfed her cute little girl while holding a conversation and not breaking a sweat. Then there was a candid of me. Hair messily tied in a knot. Leaning over Oliver with a cheesy grin, looking like I was sneaking a sac of donuts in my belly. Sweat was glistening on my brow. When I try to feed Ollie in this class, he screams. Nothing feels effortless and this picture shows it, but I'm trying to give myself a break. It's hard for all of us in different ways.

I don’t feel like myself. I can’t hold impressive conversations. I'm forgetful. I’m not as fun as I used to be. I feel heavy and sore all the time. But I'm sitting here reminding myself in a Mel Robbins voice that "I've got this, today." And for the days when I don't, I'm starting to build up a community of support to see it through. The mom-groups. The friends with kids. The aunties and single friends in my life that can either lend an ear or take me out of the crazy for a bit. 

It's only when you try to do things the same way in a new situation that they become stressful.

If no one's told you today.  You're Doing Great! Keep going...