As a teenager, I very rarely baby-sat. I changed my first diaper when I was 27 years old. I shied away from holding my family and friends’ new babies. I’d even ask for a different table at a restaurant if I was seated by a table with children or babies.
I thought I’d be the type of mother that couldn’t wait to go back to work but going back to work broke my heart.
I thought I’d be the type of mother that wouldn’t mind leaving her child with someone else but the first time few times I left her; I left a billion instructions and called or texted to check up on her.
I thought I would let my child stay over at Grandma’s house overnight. The only time this happened in 15 months was when Jared and I were sick as dogs.
I thought I’d be willing to share the time I spend with my daughter with others. Evenings and weekends are MY time with my daughter – sometimes I don’t even want to share her with Jared!
I knew I’d love her, but I had no idea just how much and how deeply.
I thought I’d easily move from one stage to another with her but I find that I feel a bit melancholy with each stage that passes. I had no idea that I would be so sentimental. I cried for a week when she turned one.
I thought for sure the baby weight would melt off of me while nursing. Instead, my body was super protective of my milk supply. As a result, three months after weaning, I still have 60 pounds to lose.
I thought I’d enjoy the freedom of having weaned my girl (a few friends and I dubbed the early demanding days of nursing “breast arrest”) but I still miss the sweet closeness.
I thought I’d be insecure and unsure of my mothering skills but I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.
It’s been my view of myself that has changed since becoming a mother. I’m not the mother I thought I would be; I’m way better.
No comments:
Post a Comment