This journey turned out to be quite different than I envisioned.
I anticipated a wave of fatigue. Sure, I knew I’d be exhausted, especially during those initial months when I hoped the baby would soon start sleeping through the night (oh, how naive!). What I didn’t foresee was the profound weariness that could linger for years, coupled with a sleep deficit that makes me doubt I’ll ever feel truly refreshed again. I wasn’t aware of sleep regressions or the countless nights consumed by teething, illness, transitioning to a big kid bed, or even the unexpected noises that disrupt our slumber—all multiplied with each additional child.
I expected my body to transform. I prepared for the softness, the drooping, the stretching. Yet, along with those changes, I faced eczema, new moles, and an altered hair texture. I didn’t anticipate how disconcerting it would feel to be a stranger in my own skin, the one I thought I knew intimately. I also didn’t expect to discover strength in lifting babies, toddlers, and eventually preschoolers. On a side note, I certainly wasn’t ready for the back pain that came with it.
I thought I would have it all figured out after my first child. I overlooked the fact that each baby is a unique individual with distinct preferences and personalities. I failed to recall how little siblings often share beyond their genetic connection. The arrival of my second child was unexpectedly challenging. My well-practiced soothing methods didn’t work, and my carefully constructed schedule became irrelevant. I forgot that we still needed to learn about each other and discover our own rhythm. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to blend the relationship I had established with my son and the fresh bond developing with my daughter.
I anticipated good days and bad days. But I had no idea the good days could be so radiant, filled with moments of joy that surpassed anything I had experienced before. Conversely, the bad days brought an overwhelming darkness. The heart-wrenching sobs of a mother feeling like a failure, the simmering frustration and anger when patience runs thin, and the deep-seated anxiety when my little one is unwell or in pain.
I expected camaraderie among friends. I wasn’t the first to become a parent, nor would I be the last. I envisioned a wonderful exchange of advice and playdates. What I didn’t foresee was the loneliness that would sometimes envelop me. Despite having a supportive husband and a network of family and friends, motherhood can feel isolating.
I expected love, yet the depth and intensity of that love continues to astonish me. However, it’s the instinct to protect them that truly took me by surprise. This overwhelming drive, even stronger than love itself, is something I find daunting. It involves loosening my grip, allowing them to carve out their own lives while stepping out of the shadows of my own. I know they will challenge my love and protection at every turn, forging their paths. The thought of them resisting my efforts, rolling their eyes at my affectionate words, and the pain of standing back as they navigate their journeys is something I never prepared for.
I anticipated love; I just didn’t understand how painful it could be or the sacrifices it would demand of me. Motherhood is a brutal, beautiful, and sometimes bankrupting experience.
In summary, this journey has proven to be more challenging, more exhausting, and infinitely more beautiful than I ever imagined. Simply put, motherhood is more.
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