I don’t care about whether or not you breast feed or bottle feed. Cry-it-out or coddle to death (like I) – whatever – I’ll judge you all the same. Like most moms, I’m sure, I belong to a million online ‘mom’ groups, all spouting the right way to do things. There’s the moms that think they know everything and the moms that question everything – and honestly, I find the know-it-alls way more tolerable than the ones that just need to man up and use the intuition within in. But whose really at fault?
There was no book about this growing up. There was no warning about how intrinsically I would change when my heart left my body in two separate pieces in the form of these perfect mini-mes that will inevitably grow to hate me.
How did this happen? How did in 5 short years, my life and everything I knew about it change into this repetitious beast we call parenting. And this may sound harsh, and perhaps that’s because it is- we’ve have our selves ripped from us in a way that no man could ever experience- and yet every woman who have bore a child has endured. So why do I feel like this has been the biggest kept secret? Motherhood.
We grow up just rolling our eyes at our mothers… not understanding the sacrifice… not understanding the fucking endurance that it takes. The pieces of flesh and heart and mortality that sums up motherhood. The term motherhood isn’t cherished in our culture… we laugh about MILFs, we make Yo Mama Jokes… somehow we have gotten it all backwards.
I gave my fucking thyroid to motherhood, my ab muscles (3 finger seperation y’all) to motherhood… my career, my youth, my boobs, my social life… and yes, last but not least, my mind to motherhood.
Don’t get me wrong… my life is better. There are smiles where there was once loneliness. My liver has recovered from my almost alcoholic state. I’m married now. My kids are the best (and I mean like literally the BEST). Not once when I was single and alone did I ever comprehend how beautiful life could be or did I ever think that I deserved this.
And yet somehow, here I am. And I don’t quite understand how I got here. In this moment, things are prefect but my tendency to be cynical and introspective makes things more dramatic than they need to be. Perfection. But hard… and soul searching… and so much more than just raising little humans. Being a mother is about so much more.
It’s about life and death. Good and bad. Right and Wrong. Everything. Maybe being a mother is trying to figure out what life is really about. Trying to navigate the best possible way for your offspring while trying to live yourself. A dual reality and a never winning struggle.
Maybe. Maybes. Motherhood is just maybes. Let’s try to figure out this beast together, shall we?