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The True Burden a Mother Bears
Updated: April 22, 2021
Originally Published: May 19, 2015
During my first trimester with my son, I lost seven pounds because the only foods I could handle were waffles, cereal, Pop-Tarts, and toaster pastries. I was completely blindsided by how pregnancy could make me feel so nauseous for weeks on end. As I curled up on the couch, feeling like I’d been steamrolled, I found myself worrying about whether my baby was healthy.
The doctors estimated my son would weigh nine pounds at birth, concerned that he might be too big for my body. Given my age, they scheduled weekly sonograms, which I welcomed as a way to quell my anxiety about possible complications like a tangled cord or breech position.
When he finally arrived, he tipped the scales at exactly eight pounds and measured 20 inches long. I cradled his tiny head in my hands, and he felt so light, almost like a bean bag. Learning to change diapers, swaddle, and nurse him was a clumsy process, and by the end of a long day of being a new mom, that eight pounds felt like twenty. But with time, my arms grew stronger, and so did my confidence.
Twelve was the number of pounds I had dropped below my pre-pregnancy weight during my peak postpartum anxiety. I was so consumed with caring for my son that I barely thought about feeding myself. Those twelve pounds were a reflection of the stress and worries that took a toll on my body, even as my son reached a healthy twelve pounds.
Now, at five years old, my son weighs forty-four pounds. That weight represents a bundle of love, intelligence, curiosity, and pure joy. This morning, he held up his arms for me to pick him up, and they seemed longer and closer than ever—like I was gazing at him through a magnifying glass. I bent my knees, hoisting him up with a bit more effort than before.
I could have said, “No, you’re a big boy now. You can walk,” or “I have too much to carry.” But I didn’t. I found a way to juggle everything and hold him close. I inhaled that familiar scent of sweat and soap and cherished this moment, knowing that it won’t last forever. While I don’t want him to stop growing, it’s hard not to feel a pang of sadness as I watch him transition from little boy to big boy. It’s through his growth that I learn and grow as a mother.
Lately, he’s been asking for more piggyback rides, and I always say yes. As long as I can lift him, I will. He feels heavier now, but those arm muscles didn’t come from the gym; they’re a result of five years spent lifting him day in and day out. I treasure this time that’s slipping away so quickly, memorizing his changing face and the soft skin on his arms before he no longer wants me to.
I take every chance I get to hold his hand while crossing the street and scoop him up when he leaps into my arms. I let him tackle me, kiss my boo-boos, and mess up my hair. I don’t mind when he curls up next to me on the couch, even on hot afternoons watching cartoons. I know those moments won’t last forever.
A phrase echoes in my mind: “One day, you’ll put him down and never pick him up again.” So I bend my knees, lift him, and hold him tight for as long as I can.
For more insights on parenting and home insemination, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy at March of Dimes and learn more about intracervical insemination. You can also find great information about fertility at Make a Mom.
Summary:
This heartfelt reflection captures a mother’s journey through pregnancy and early motherhood, illustrating the physical and emotional weights she carries. From the struggles of pregnancy nausea to the joys and challenges of raising a growing child, the narrative emphasizes the fleeting nature of these early years. It’s a reminder to cherish every moment, knowing that each stage of growth is both a privilege and a challenge for mothers.