A pivotal moment in my life occurred when my four-year-old son accidentally stepped on my chest, revealing the reality of my body and how it has changed. Now, before jumping to conclusions, let me clarify—I’m not into anything wild, aside from a love for sleep. My little “boob stepper,” as I like to call him, has a knack for categorizing his actions as “on purpose” or “by accident.” This instance? Definitely an accident. Yet, as I felt the pain, my sleep-deprived mind wandered through a haze of thoughts: “Ouch, my dignity! Ouch, my self-worth! Shouldn’t this phase be over by now?”
While the physical pain was undeniable, this incident symbolized something much deeper. It made me confront the reality that my body has become a shared space, devoid of the privacy and autonomy I once took for granted. You might think, “Isn’t pregnancy supposed to prepare you for this?” Sure, I thought I was ready, envisioning a communal experience where we all shared my body, but it turned out to be more like a dictatorship—and I wasn’t in charge.
Before becoming a parent, I anticipated giving up control in some areas, but it was more like knowing about a space shuttle’s operation—lots of buttons, no gravity, and food that floats around. I knew that privacy would be in short supply, especially during bathroom breaks, but did I ever think a child stepping on my chest would be part of the motherhood experience? I never expected that loss of privacy would extend to complete autonomy over my body.
Motherhood has transformed me into something I never anticipated—an object, a resource, so many various things that defy description. I’ve become food, comfort, entertainment, and a learning tool for my son. I’ve endured hair-pulling and the occasional projectile remote control, acting as a plaything, a pillow, and even a white noise machine. Sure, the choice to breastfeed was mine, but that decision came with the loss of some freedoms—most notably, the ability to move freely.
The pain I experienced during my early breastfeeding days, while my mother-in-law was visiting to help, stripped me of the right to decide who could see my body. Showers? Those became a luxury. And don’t even get me started on sleep! It felt like a violation of my rights. Then came the reality of a multi-participant pumping schedule discussion, further emphasizing my lack of control over my own body. I realized that my understanding of “my body” was no longer relevant; it was like a relic of the past.
As if that wasn’t enough, I also lost the privacy of my thoughts. My brain feels like it’s on constant overload with information from social media, news feeds, and the unending stream of awareness from my little one. He bombards me with thoughts, questions, and jokes—always starting with the irresistible “Mama?” While being the lens through which he views the world is a beautiful experience, it’s also exhausting. Sometimes, I just crave a moment alone with my thoughts.
This loss of bodily autonomy isn’t all bad, but it’s certainly a loss. I am everything to my sons now, but I know that won’t last forever. Someday, my autonomy will return—at least for a little while—and I’ll find myself alone with my thoughts again. And you know what? I’ll probably have a new set of complaints ready by then.
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In summary, motherhood is a journey filled with unexpected challenges that redefine our sense of autonomy. We become everything for our children, and while the experience can be overwhelming, it also provides moments of joy and growth.