The Fine Print of Motherhood
The fine print of motherhood- what some won’t tell you and another (possibly failed) attempt at describing the Wild West that is the postpartum journey.
“I am sorry for ruining our lives,” I said to my husband, delirious tears in my eyes, my heart broken and my mind guilty for even having thoughts such as that. This was about one week after our daughter was born. In that first week I had a collective 47 minutes of sleep, a baby that would also refuse to close her eyes and preferred to cry for all hours of the day, a body that felt like it had been hit by a semi-truck twice, and a world I once knew— gone. I shouldn’t feel this way. I have always wanted kids, I have always wanted to be a mom- but when I looked at this little blob of a human— I mostly felt immense fear. This isn’t what the movies showed, this isn’t how those mom influencers felt. Wasn’t it supposed to be love at first site? A maternity bubble of babbling bliss?
Spoiler alert: I am now officially 10 weeks postpartum and I actually could not love my baby more (and I hear this love keeps GROWING?). It is true that your baby becomes a vital organ that lives outside of your body. They are your heart and your lungs.
But duality exists in motherhood. It is the hardest thing I have ever done and equally it is all that truly matters to me now.
So as I climb my way out of the newborn trenches (yes, for some of us they are the trenches)- I am filled with grit, gratitude, and awe. It feels both monumental and insignificant at the same time. On one hand, we are slowly getting the hang of this whole keeping a baby alive thing. With every smile our baby girl now gives us, our hearts expand in size and the thrill of her not being a little potato that cries all day long starts to set in. It seems to me as if she is slowly becoming a little less reluctant to this whole outside the womb thing. My body is supposedly well into its healing era (but still so many random aches and pains?! Postpartum is a hoot). Sleep is now happening sometimes in 4-5 hour stretches- not the 30 minute chunks that existed in the first month (should I knock on wood?).
However, as time moves forward, it feels as if the world expects you to step right back into the swing of things. But how is that possible when the world has quite literally and metaphorically knocked you on your ass and handed you a brand new bundle of “handle with care”?
When people ask how you are and how is the baby- they want the sweet answer. The, “we are doing good— we are so in love— not a lot of sleep but totally worth it”. They don’t necessarily want to hear about the blowouts in the carseat or the sleepless nights or the insane google searches of what is normal. Of course the gratitude I feel for having a healthy baby is insurmountable, it has also been a terrifying journey into motherhood. So while all of these things can be true- I am reminded of that duality.
Love and fear.
Love and exhaustion.
Love and rage.
Love and anxiety.
Love and *insert any unwanted and unwelcomed postpartum feeling*.
We are learning as we go. Motherhood is a tender contradiction — a life that was once lived in exciting pieces has started to mend into one whole. It is the simultaneous act of holding on and letting go, of fiercely protecting while gently preparing to release.
It is waking each morning with an aching exhaustion yet feeling a surge of energy at the sound of a small voice. It is a longing for solitude while craving their warmth against your chest.
Motherhood is an endless giving: your time, your body, your heart. And yet, in giving so much away, you find parts of yourself you never knew existed — reservoirs of strength, depths of patience, and a love so fierce it terrifies you.
In its contradictions lies its beauty. The fine print of motherhood is messy and wild and not very glamorous. But in the fine print also lies the deepest love.
To all the mothers who came before, I see you. I am you. Thank you.
