As my body swells in preparation to welcome a little someone I marvel at what my body is capable of.  The love and reverence for the process is equalled by the worry that perhaps I’ll never get my pre-baby body back, I’m not sure if I’m ready to accept that just yet.  Is that a new little stretch mark?  Will they like me?  Does either matter? I’m becoming a mother but have no idea what a mother is outside of the example I was given when tiny myself.  I’m not ‘me’ in my emotions or thoughts right now as the time to birth draws closer – who even am I now?

I think the birth of someone else happens with the birth of a baby – I’m not who I used to be, forever changed from the moment I first held that new little person.  It was love at first sight, but not in the warm, dizzying way I expected it to be – more of a “I will forever protect and care for you no matter what comes our way” kind of way.  Entrusted with new life I sat with all the questions around who I now needed to be, but no answers ever really came.  I guess those answers showed themselves day by day while I kept showing up for this baby that came with no instruction manual.  Somehow I made it through with little sleep, often feeling invisible in my endless quests to feed, hold and care for them right.  She’s foreign to me, the person I see in the mirror, but when I have the energy I’d like to get to know her. I sometimes wonder if all other new parents feel the same way…who even am I now?

12 months came and went so quickly, the baby days were long but the months so short. Before I knew it we were standing in a day-care centre.  It was one of the most traumatic days in my mama-history – he screamed, I cried – I don’t think we’re meant to be apart.  I sat at work, unable to focus, wondering why I was there and if someone was loving and seeing my baby through these days the way I could. They’re too young to be away from me, but someone needs to put food on the table. Grateful enough to be earning what I do an hour in a good enough job, while thinking that every minute with my child while they’re little is infinitely priceless. It felt like I was working just to pay someone else to have the time I wanted with the person I loved most in the world – and the only thing I got in return for that payment was every sickness known to man.  Maybe I should have stayed home? Maybe there was another way? I’m not even entirely sure how I have kept my job taking every second week off with the kindy snots; the uncertainty, anxiety and guilt have nearly tipped me over the edge on more than one occasion.  I don’t remember ever taking a sick day before kids – unless I was hung over of course. I can’t even begin to imagine putting on heels and staying out all night now…who even am I when it comes to having fun anymore?

They’re in school now, and I miss the moment when they’d be curled against my chest and I’d smell their little baby powder heads or run my hands through their ringlets.  Every day is Groundhog Day and I wonder when things will change, it’s always the same arguments and routine.  I might try to plan something special for us this weekend, or I might just ask for help to get a moment for me.  I go to call a friend on a rare free moment but realise so many of them have fallen away. Is it just that they don’t care about me anymore or that it’s the universe’s way of telling me I have changed, grown and these connections just don’t serve me anymore? It’s probably about time I got to know my partner again anyway, I miss them…but I’m not sure where to start.  Who even am I in relationships anymore? 

They’re all grown up now and will soon have families of their own.  Did I do a good enough job?  Are their strengths my triumphs? Are their struggles my failings? Or were they always going to be who they be?  I often ponder the nurture vs. nature question now that I have the space to.  The house is a little quiet, sometimes lonely, these days.  That space lends to the creation of times in which I am curious as to whether they think I have been a good mother or not, perhaps one day I will find the courage to ask.  Maybe it doesn’t matter, I can see in all that they do that they know they’re enough, and that they will always be loved.  Who even am I now that my role as a mother feels like it’s ending?  

Who even am I anymore? I’m still me, just ever changing and ever flowing through motherhood and life. All parts of me still matter and I think from now on I’ll be sure to take moments to whisper to her – “I still see you, I still hear you” and honour whatever comes back. 

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