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She is the last thought I have at night and the first face I search for upon waking.
My baby.
There she is, in her usual spot nestled up to me. Maybe her curls fill the space directly before my eyes, or maybe her foot is on my head. All at once it hits me: the love, the tiredness, the weight of this responsibility.
I wonder what other mums mornings look like. I wonder if they are up before me, kitchens cleaned, loads of washing put away. I have never been a morning person, so at times the guilt of this fact consumes me. I should be doing more…I should be better.
Is she getting enough fibre, protein, iron?
Is she getting enough sleep, water?
Is she getting enough fresh air?
Why is everything so toxic?
Is she happy?
Am I enough?
Then, her eyes find mine, and in the quiet, sacred moments shared only by us, I know that I am.
To my little stargazer, my wild child with the curly hair and the mischievous sparkle in her eye. My child who feels it all without shame, who defends herself and all she believes in to the hilt. Who is bold and brazen, soft and nurturing.
To my daughter, heaven knows I couldn’t have imagined someone as beautiful and savage as you in my wildest dreams. Couldn’t have conjured up a human being more perfect if I tried, and yet, here you are. Fruit of my fruit, blood of my blood.
Three years ago, after 24 hours of labour, the midwife informed me you were in the posterior position—a “stargazer,” she said. When I finally pushed your head out of my body, there you were: sunny side up.
You were still in the in-between world. You hadn’t yet taken your first breath (and your body had yet to be born), had not yet opened your eyes, and I was still in between worlds too. I was euphoric, kissing your father and almost kissing the student doctor who was on my other side holding my hand so supportively. To have you almost all of the way out of me without the need for any intervention felt like a miracle. It was a huge relief, both physically and mentally.
We grabbed a photo of this monumental moment. I can’t say I will be getting it framed any time soon, but oh, what a wonder you were—all nine pounds and five ounces of you.
From the moment I found out I was pregnant, it was like stepping into an alternate universe. My life and the world as I understood it ceased to exist. In its place was a new world, one where people could prod and poke and say just about anything under the sun to me. I think anyone who has been pregnant understands what I’m talking about.
At my first doctor’s appointment, the GP looked at me with a blank expression and told me not to get too excited as the majority of pregnancies end in miscarriage before 12 weeks. And so began my journey into “Weird-ville,” which was only going to get weirder (as if being pregnant during a global pandemic wasn’t weird enough).
At the same time though, away from the sterile glow of the doctor’s office and mainstream media horror stories around pregnancy and birth, I couldn’t have been happier. Yes, I cried every day, fought with my partner, and couldn’t stand to be around just about anybody. As my body and life changed, I couldn’t listen to the endless commentary about myself and how much my life was about to change, how different I looked, or how big my belly was. Then there were the “Oh, if you think that’s bad, just wait until…” comments, and being told I was too sensitive, too vulnerable.
Yet still, I was absolutely over the moon. I was smitten and awe struck. It was the beginning of understanding the world of contradictions that is motherhood.
I still remember all too well how my illusions and expectations around motherhood were abruptly and almost violently shattered. But this, I believe, is a rite of passage—one that is unavoidable for all new mothers. We can tell each other many things about motherhood but how can you explain this?
There are no words. One must simply live it and forge their own way forward to be the mother that only they can and will be. We have to come to terms with the fact that motherhood is nothing like we thought it would be, and yet, it can be even better than we could have imagined if we surrender and allow it to just be. Surrendering to the unknown is scary, but if we are powerful enough to create life (hello!), we have to claim that power and trust in it and ourselves.
We must erase all of the expectations and notions of how we think things ought to be. And it is in this surrendering, I think, that we come to the root of it. We come to find the the truth of it all: that life and love were never meant to be easy. But hard does not always have to mean bad.
Being a mom is a shock to the system in a myriad of ways. Have I been lied to my whole life? Made to chase comfort and ease at all costs, often forgetting that it was in the opposite of this that we were all created in the first place. New parents often ask, “Does it get easier?” and some people will lie and say that it does. It is not a malicious or purposeful lie, but a lie nonetheless.
Parenting does not get easier—it just simply changes form. You are learning as you go, and each challenge you overcome and leave behind leads you into a new stage with fresh challenges. Each time you are unlearning and relearning, and anything you might of read in a book or thought you had prepared yourself for simply goes out the window. Because life, and our children, don’t follow a certain set of made-up rules that give us a sense of control. Everything you said you would “never do” as a mother suddenly becomes like some hazy dream. “Did I really say that?” you will laugh to yourself as you play another show for your child in a restaurant so you can eat in peace. You might have judged others before you but now you understand with every fibre of your being that they were so tired and fed up and hungry and hormonal, and possibly full of rage and depleted, that they simply didn’t have room in their brain to give one single f*ck about your judgement.
You will be humbled—every single day.
Motherhood, like life, will ebb and flow, have its peaks and its troughs. Through it all though is a burning love: a love so strong it almost hurts, a love so different to anything you have ever known. At times, it will make you want to run away, run back to the safety of the life you had before. The life before real responsibilities and endless to-do lists. The life where you thought you understood what being tired was (but you really didn’t). The life before constant worry and guilt over what you can’t quite put your finger on, but you’re almost certain you are doing everything wrong.
Sometimes, it gets so hard you wonder how you will survive it, but you will and you do. And it is in these moments you will find what you are really made of. It is in these moments we remember that pain and suffering and blood and guts are the story of our conception, creation, and survival through the ages. Once you witness this first-hand, it changes you forever and you can either resist it or accept it. Accept motherhood for what it is, with all its trials and tribulations, with its overwhelming and all-consuming love. Accept your life and your new body and your children and this whole new reality. Accept that this is life now and there is no other life to get back to. Accept that the longer you delay accepting this your very life is slipping away.
So, to my stargazer who has her whole life ahead of her, who I am tasked with guiding and loving and supporting through this journey, I hope I can make you proud. I hope you continue to teach me, to humble me, and to show me grace when I inevitably mess up.
I read an excerpt once from a nurse who worked in hospice for elderly people that said the last person people look for right before they pass away is their mom. It made me weep hot, heavy tears. How precious and messy and beautiful this life is. How heavy this work of being a mother feels at times.
When I read this, my mind couldn’t imagine that I would want my own mother, and that made me sad for both her and myself. And it also made me realise how important it is to get this right. How big of an impact our relationship to our mother has on our lives. It feels like I have been tasked with ending this generational cycle.
I began to wonder what I would do when my time comes, and I know it is you, my sweet daughter, that I will look for. But, until then, I will live in the present moment of this ever-changing journey of happiness and chaos and tears, of the ups and downs that have defined my journey into motherhood.
~
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