So I'm lying in bed right now, trying to stay put, because I feel absolutely miserable and know that bed is the best place for me right now to fight whatever bug I caught. But as I was lying here, mind racing in the silence of my room, I started thinking about these (almost) four years since I became a mother...and I realized something that I never really realized before. I've never cried so much in my life as I have since becoming a mother.
It's starts from the moment that you take a deep breath and stare at those two little blue lines. Those lines that tell you that you're going to be a mom. Those lines that tell you that your life now immediately shifts, changes and transforms into something else...something wonderful, something incredible. And you cry. Because this is what you've always wanted and you just can't believe that it's actually happening.
Then the day comes when you're lying on that table, belly covered in cold gel, heart pounding as you hear the click, click, click of the computer beside you and the intense silence that fills the room. And then she finally turns the screen and you get that first glimpse of your baby...and you cry. Soft, slow tears of relief and disbelief, because you just can't believe that you're actually watching this little life that is growing inside of you. And that heartbeat that flickers on the screen means that the whole weight of the world has just been lifted from your shoulders. So the tears stream down.
|Pregnant with Carter|
Then that incredible day arrives when the cramping starts and the phone calls are made and the rush to the hospital begins. The day that is long and tiring and painful and amazing. My absolute favourite day of the entire process. My absolute favourite. The day that I look forward to and anticipate and yearn for for nine long months. The day that that sweet little baby is born. The day that your life changes forever. So as he takes that first real breath, and let's out that first beautiful tiny cry, you weep...because a miracle has just been placed in your arms, and it's the most incredible thing in the world.
Then you go home and soak up that newborn smell, and welcome visitors, and change diapers and zip up tiny sleepers and gaze at this precious little soul for hours on end.
Until that moment.
That moment when it all becomes overwhelming. When it's 4am and you're still rocking a crying baby who hasn't slept at all all night long. That baby who wants you unconditionally. Who will sleep on your chest but nowhere else. Who is crying and crying and crying and you just can't figure out how to soothe him...and you're exhausted. And you cry right along with him. Because sometimes it's all that you can do.
Then all of a sudden a year has gone by and your heart is pounding as you strap your now one year old into that car seat and pretend for his sake that you're not about to melt down at the wheel as you pull out of your driveway. And you continue to pretend that you're not on the verge of a full blown anxiety attack as you pull into the daycare parking lot for the first time and walk through those doors. And you hold it together for the moment that you hand him off to those loving ladies who reassure you that his tears will stop once you leave...and you kiss him goodbye, and hold him in that moment for as long as you possibly can before you have to be strong and let go. And you walk out. And you cry. And cry. And cry.
|Carter, almost 2yrs old...meltdown #1000|
|Mya at 2yrs old...meltdown #1000|
You have a child who is fun and witty and still learning who she is. You have a child who will test boundaries, test your patience and who is learning the importance of her tone of voice--because three year olds still have a lot to learn. And so when you go to pick up that three year old from school one day and the teacher pulls you aside, you have a moment of panic because you just don't know what is coming. And then they stand there, smiling, telling you that your daughter is so loving and caring and has a "soul that is so kind"...and you breathe, and then take a minute in your car on the ride home and try to hold back those tears once again. Not simply because you're so proud of her, but because you know that the journey has not been easy, and you're so grateful that you're now finally in this place. So for all of those days when motherhood felt so overwhelming, when siblings were fighting (yes indeed they do), when you could hear your voice getting louder than you ever wanted it to be on those hard days when it all seemed too much (yes, guilty)...well, they're all of a sudden washed away a bit...because her soul is kind. And that's all that we could ever wish for. And not that it's always this way every day--we're still reminded daily that she is still three and still has a lot of learning to do. But the tears that day came from knowing that the work, tireless patience, daily reminders to keep toddler behaviours in check, moments when we felt like we were actually losing our minds and constant, never-ending love and sacrifices that we poured out over the past four years were all worth it in that one little moment.
So when someone tells you to soak up and enjoy every last minute of parenthood, kindly smile and nod and then remind yourself that parenthood is a journey that is hard and tiring and wonderful and amazing. And man, will it ever make you cry.