I am a mother

 Sometimes I find myself repeating "I'm a mom" in my head, over and over.  It's been 5 months, and I still find myself doing this throughout the day/week/month.  It's not because I forget, or need assurance, or have to hype myself up for anything.  But it's been 5 months and I still marvel at it.  

I am a mother; a mom; a mama.

What a strange, yet so very ordinary, transformation.  Every Mother in the history of the world has gone through what I have, in some form or another.  Yet for me, it's the very first time and it has been nothing short of magical.  

3 days before Dylan was born

It's hard to explain how I felt before Dylan was born.  In the years before I was pregnant, I was always very tepid about the idea of having a baby.  It felt like there were so many other things to do, see, experience, and even living children that needed loving homes.  But mostly - we had a life that already felt satisfying and full, we savored our "we do what we want" ethos, and luxuriated in the peaceful tempo of our days.  We have been so very happy and fortunate in our life together and I didn't feel like we needed a baby to make it meaningful or more.  

And in full disclosure, I've always been quite daunted by how difficult it seems to have a baby and raise a child - how all consuming, complicated, emotional, disorienting, exhausting, full of doubt, expensive, body-wrecking, romance-ending, etc., etc., etc.  The resounding impression I had of having a baby was: it's beautiful and you'll love it...but sometimes it's also the worst thing ever.  And no matter how many people I love and trusted told me it was wonderful and worth it, I wasn't sure I'd feel the same. 

So I couldn't really place this tiny little life coming from ours, without also imagining the disruption of what we had enjoyed for so long.  And because of my hesitation, we waited...and waited...and waited.  Even after several years ago, when Steven gently told me that because of my age, we might be waiting so long it becomes physically improbable, or even impossible, for me to experience pregnancy and childbirth firsthand, I waited.  For years I've felt that urgency of time, and that slight panic of coming loss...yet I still waited.

And now, however many years later here I am, a mother. 

3 months

And it's both everything and nothing like what I expected.  The mechanics are exactly how people describe - the tiny, helpless being that doesn't know how to do anything (not even poop without crying!), the initial pain and ongoing effort of nursing, the staggering number of diaper changes, the surrender of your free time and sleep, mountains of laundry that seem to multiply overnight, uncertainty about whether your baby is sleeping enough even though it seems like she is sleeping all the time (and yet maybe not enough?!), and thousands upon thousands of google searches for things I've never even considered before.  All of that is exactly how it's described and I think because everyone talks about it so much nowadays, we had fairly accurate expectations for how we'd be spending our time.  

But what really surprised me, and what I marvel at repeatedly these days, is how it feels.  Everyone tried to tell me how it felt for them, but of course that's problematic because no two people are the same inside.  How can you tell someone how they will feel about their tiny being in the midst of months of sleep deprivation, painful boobs, and not knowing whether what you're doing is correct/enough/the best thing for this tiny creature you love so much?  And even if you could predict how someone will feel, as I learned in the last 5 months while hemming and hawing over this writing, it's also incredibly difficult to accurately capture and portray the dimension of these feelings.  But I'm here to get it down while the feelings are fresh, so I can snapshot them forever in time, and use it to pull these specific memories off the shelves in my brain later when there are rooms and rooms full of Dylan and motherhood memories.  

Even now, I struggle to describe it to myself.  But perhaps the best way is to summarize what I've said in text conversations during the very early days after Dylan was born, when I didn't have time to over think and curate my responses: 

At 5 days when asked what it feels like to look at Dylan: 

I always felt like meeting and getting to know my nieces and nephew was this huge explosion of emotion for me.  Like BOOM all the sudden my heart was bigger and made room for these tiny new people in our lives.  But I don't have this explosion of butterflies and heart-expanding fireworks like I did when I met my sisters' kids. It's not nearly as...I don't know, crushing?  When I look at Dylan, it's this really simple, quiet, incredibly deep belonging.  There's no fanfare or explosion or loudness to it.  It's just there.  Dylan is just a part of me now.  

At 6 days when discussing the serenity of the love described above:

I don't think my body is trying to protect myself after birth, or that the trauma of the event is muting how loud/large the feelings are.  I think there are so many different kinds of love and this is just a new one for me. 

At 10 days:

(In reference to my years of hesitation about having a baby:) I still understand those feelings. I still think we would have had a great life without having children.  But now that we have Dylan, and her specifically, it's different.  She's ours, end of story.

Motherhood is still abstract to me in a lot of ways.  But I figure it will build and become less and less abstract over time, as my mothering experience and relationship with Dylan grows.  It's only been 10 days.  We're still getting to know each other on the outside. 

It's a lot of broken sleep and I'm tired a lot.  But it's not forever and it's a choice I'm actively deciding to make each day.  It's definitely something I couldn't have understood until I went through it.  And even then, my experience is my own - entirely different than how some other person might feel given the same situation.  But I'm feeling pretty good.  I'm not as broken, tired, or blue as I was preparing myself to be/feel - which has been a pleasant surprise in itself.  And I am deeply content. 

At 10 weeks:

I'm continually surprised by how good it is.  I had been expecting so much chaos and anxiety and misery and crying (on Dylan's part and mine).  And it really hasn't turned out that way at all.  I keep telling myself it's still early and things could change, almost like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop.  But I think it's a bit damaging to think that way all the time.  And it's not like it's all been easy. There have definitely been multiple hard things. But it just hasn't affected me as negatively as I thought it would.

And now, here we are at 5 months, where I am a little more settled into motherhood but still completely in agreement with everything I expressed above.  

There is now a deep yet serene undercurrent of love that exists in every moment of every day.  It hasn't turned my life upside down in the ways that I feared, and while the mechanics are what everyone says they are - experiencing it has been something different altogether.  And I tell myself over and over again that "I am a mother" simply because I love this new part of my life.

15 days

It's time to meet Dylan

This is Dylan.  She's calm and content, full of gummy and delightful squeals; my heart living outside my body. 

And this is her Dad, he's mine too.

For months now, I've been trying to find the right words but I didn't feel like my thoughts were gathered enough, polished enough, or exact enough.  So I didn't write.  I wanted to preserve these feelings and stages but always waited for more time, more words, more clarity.  And so here we are, nearly 1/2 a year later, and I still haven't written a single thing about something I feel so keenly and so fully. 

I probably would have waited forever but just this week, it hit me: this is my new normal and I'm waiting for something that isn't going to come. I'm wasting time, and time is something I now choose to share.

Gone are the days where I spent hours mulling over a single word or phrase, or slowly cooked an elaborate meal, or slogged through a book I didn't particularly care for just to avoid leaving it unfinished, or spent 10 days ripping out stitches on a project because I was annoyed that it wasn't *just right*, or spent 45mins on my morning hygiene routine (wtf was I doing with my life?), etc., etc., etc.  And it would be understandable if I said I no longer have time - that certainly what it feels like most days.  But what I realized this week is that I still have all the same time I did before.  And while it would be a taxing effort in it's own way, I could probably even muster the same mental clarity I had pre-baby.  But now I opt to spend everything differently and the result is less time and focus on me and my interests.  And that isn't going to change in the foreseeable future...by my choice.

Everyday for the last 5 months, I have chosen Dylan.  I give her my body because she used to be a part of it, and now this bright new world is strange and overwhelming, but so much nicer when you don't have to go through it feeling alone.  I give her my attention because it helps her grow, and learn, and makes her happy.  I give her my effort and intention because of all the things I apply myself towards in the course of my life, I want her to have my very best.  And I give her my sleep because day after day in the wee hours, she needs me.  

And I want to remember all these things in the small moments that they occur.  They're so precious yet so ordinary, repetitive, and fleeting that when I give them to her I'm also surrendering my own time and memory.  It's such a blur of love, sleepiness, tiny struggles, and rapid change; it's impossible to remember all (or even most?) of it.  And that simply won't do.  Six months, a year, or 20 years from now - I want to remember more than my second priority mind can spontaneously recall from this love-drenched time.  So this blog is going to become a place for me to share, but also just to remember. 

And it's going to get a whole lot messier. 

Not sorry, not even a little bit.