It starts the moment you see the two little positive lines on the plastic thermometer-shaped test that changes the course of your future.
The image of a bloated stomach and a tinge of fear to hopefully be the one to “bounce back.”
Suddenly, you’re no longer the main character of your own story.
The nursery and beyond
A golden moment of deciding how to create a “perfect” space for your new angel.
The nursery. Carefully selected color schemes and soft edges. Calm music with blackout curtains and a comfortable rocking chair.
As they get older, keeping up with the times to transform their bedroom into a fantasy world feels all but attainable.
Keeping away from social media, avoiding jealousy of the clean and organized rooms full of bright colors with calming music. My daughter’s room is a hodgepodge of hand-me-downs, and old furniture, with no artwork as our family appears to be nomadic. Why hang a painting if we’re only going to move?
My body, your choice
As your belly grows, so do the comments.
All unsolicited.
Off-hand discussions about how much weight was gained by every pregnant person they ever knew. Epidural, no epidural. How quick this person’s labor was, how long this other person’s was.
Feeling like a piece of meat. Flashbacks from the novel The Giver regarding the women who were chosen to be “birthmothers,” also referred to as vessels.
Then, the baby comes, and no one cares about you. Trying to heal the body you once knew as it transforms into an awkward “mom body.” Nothing fits the anymore.
You try for years to “lose the baby weight,” but time eludes you, and the energy to be at the gym five days a week seems. The best part is when you do lose some weight, no one notices.
They do notice when I decide to have one unhealthy meal between the salads and shakes.
In the kitchen
Every morning I think about dinner.
Finding a healthy, balanced meal that’s not only inexpensive but is something my toddler will eat.
What better way for my husband to come home than seeing his wife busy in the kitchen and the smell of a home-cooked meal. They eat while I do the dishes and put away the food.
Before bed, I decide what we need from the grocery store and what I’ll be packing for my daughter’s lunch the next day.
I feel like a failure when we have to order takeout.
Everything else
Laundry and chores never end.
I’ve done two loads of laundry only to find the laundry basket is still full. I fold the laundry while watching a show, put it all away, and then pull the sheets because my daughter has accidents at night. We could get night-time pull-ups, but we want her to learn. It’s working, but there are still accidents.
Pulling the sheets off is much easier than putting them back on.
Vacuuming and tidying take up the rest of my time slots. Of it all, tidying is the most exhausting. It never ends. There are little messes and things strewn about everywhere. In every room.
The End
At the end of the day, I reflect on everything.
I make lists and see what I could accomplish and what I would be doing the next day. I watch my husband take over the nighttime duties of bathtime and tucking our daughter into bed.
“Thanks, hun,” he says to me.
“For what?”
“Taking care of everything.”
It’s important to find a balance. Being a mother can create an anxious feeling of trying to be perfect. To have it all together. A well-oiled machine.
Life isn’t always like that.
There were a few months I was trying to do it all.
Finding time to write and create a side job, grocery shop, cook, clean, be healthy while going to the gym five days out of the week, visit grandma’s house every Saturday, and have a family day every Sunday.
After three months, I was burnt out, uninspired, and depressed.
As mothers, we need to realize all we do and not focus on what we’re not doing. Give yourself time, knowing you don’t always have to be present. Ask for the night off — or the morning off.
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Previously Published on medium
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