When a baby is born, a mother is too.
Standing In Front of Closed Doors
When I was pregnant, I’d often fall into a pool of anxiety, thinking about how life would change when we had our baby. This felt confusing; we had spent years and thousands of dollars on fertility treatments, so the fact that anxiety was the chief emotion was hard to understand. Yet I was riddled with insecurity. Every night, I’d think about how the only thing that would wake me up between then and dawn was my own bladder, but in a few short weeks my sleep would be subject to the whims of an eight-pound supervisor. I constantly second-guessed my own abilities and wondered if I’d ever be able to truly handle the demands of parenting. It sounds dramatic now as I type it. But the fears were big. It felt like a challenge that I desperately wanted but also felt desperately unprepared for. Parenthood was barreling in my direction, and it had the potential to completely overwhelm me.
“No Mommy! Go away! I don’t want you!”
When we were struggling with infertility, in the midst of treatments and miscarriages and arguments and bank account managing, it was sometimes hard to hear the stories of those in the trenches. I knew logically that parenting was hard, but at times it was discouraging to hear people complain about the thing we were fighting like hell to achieve. I’d be lying if I said I never resented these complaints, because they were problems I wanted to have. And I’d also be lying that the stories didn’t elicit a lot of fear in me. What WERE we fighting like hell for, anyway?