Bring on the Mush!

Bring on the Mush!
February 01, 2019

Honestly, I wanted the opportunity to just relish (in print) the awe that can be motherhood. I know I’m not the only mother who pointedly enjoys and appreciates the miricle they created, so I’m guaranteed this little splurge of emotional mush will be appreciated.

I’m 37. I was 35 when I accidentally conceived. To be quite honest, we didn’t think I could have children. We hadn’t been very safe or smart for a few years and nothing had ever happened. He has a daughter from a previous relationship, so we assumed the issue (if there was one) would have been with me! Hilariously, sadly, and ironically, it was on a camping trip in honor of my late father who had passed away a month prior, where we conceived our miricle. I was terrified when I found out. 

I always knew I wanted to be a mother. To be pregnant, to present my husband with a child I grew, to love that child and show them the world. But over the years I started to convince myself this wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t think I could, so that was the safest solution to the disappointment I knew I’d feel if I couldn’t have children. So here I am holding this stick with all these lines on it. Oh my was I a mess! I laughed, I cried, and then I stood there and stared at it as my world shifted around me. 

My family was a colossal mess growing up.. not in the way most families are... my mother and brother are sociopaths, and my baby brother had undiagnosed aspergers, my dad was just trying to keep up with all their chaos, while I was the quiet child that tried to help. Having the type of mother I had, this all came flooding back while I stared at this stick that was telling me I was going to be a mother. “Oh god, what if I am my mother?” This was always the second thought in my head through my entire pregnancy. 

When my beautiful squishy faced baby girl came into the world, everything stood still. Absolutely nothing mattered past her existence. The only word to describe it is awe. Complete awe. 

It wasn’t until my husband left the room with my visitors and the nurses were gone that I came out of it. I felt the connection with my baby girl and made her promises. I swelled with love and adoration, also with edema, and I absolutely could not fathom even a fraction of the indifference I’d been shown by my own mother. The realization didn’t hurt. It would have before, but this tiny baby was laying on me as happy as can be just to smell me and listen to my heartbeat. It was here that I chose to be her mother (not that I had a choice). I chose to be her everything, that she would know love, and comfort, and happiness. 

I know she cannot always be happy, and she will find heartbreak one day. She might make some horrible decisions later in life and my heart might want to stop just to make her happy again, but so far, in her 10 months of life... She is happy. She is always happy. She laughs and sings, loves to talk to strangers, and her toys. She rarely cries, and stops doing bad things when you tell her no.

Motherhood can be stressful and exhausting. They can keep us up for most of the night and they still have crazy energy at 7am (if you’re lucky). They barf and poop, and screech, and spit their food out for fun. We take on more than we should because if we don’t, it won’t get done. We are food factories, launching pads, chefs, nurses, teachers, professional grocery shoppers, and so many more things... and yet when I look down at my beautiful, smart, funny little girl, my world still stops.

I still stare at her in awe and breathe deeply. She’s gonna keep growing like a weed and I’m going to miss this. I love being her everything. It fills every part of me that needed love as a child. Not because she loves me, like some would expect... but because of the overwhelming love I have for her. Perhaps I’m mothering myself as much as I’m mothering her. 

Thank you for reading :) 

If you want to share your own mushy sentiment, I’d love to read it!

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