Postpartum Ramblings and Thoughts About Motherhood

I didn't realize it's been since September since I wrote last, but I guess I'm not too surprised considering I used every spare chunk of time to sleep in the last trimester of my pregnancy. I wish I was one of those women who loved pregnancy. Some women rave that their skin never looked better, that they've never felt more beautiful, and that they just love all the changes that happen to their body. Now listen, I think pregnancy is a miracle, that two cells can come together and you get a human out of the deal 9 months later, but the process of growing that human can be brutal. There's limited control over the weight that you gain (and where you gain it), clothes don't fit (even maternity clothes feel awkward most of the time), there's the food cravings and aversions and the nausea and throwing up in trash cans, the shower, the sink, the toilet...And pregnancy is even more brutal for the moms who already have kids. I'm not all about giving trophies to all participants as is the custom these days, but I think all moms who have 1 or more children should get a trophy for every pregnancy thereafter. It's only fair. We're expected to not only grow a human inside our bodies, but also keep the already existing children alive, and if you ask me, this is a high expectation. Well, maybe that's an extreme statement and mildly dramatic, but there was a lot of bare minimum happening at our house in the last few months of my pregnancy. And I have no regrets. Sometimes we just do what we need to do to survive.

And then let's talk postpartum. I don't care how good pregnancy may be to some women, the postpartum experience is unkind to most. Stitches, pads, peri bottles, and mesh panties for the win. If those supplies don't make you feel beautiful, I don't know what does. But God bless stretchy pants in any form or fashion because any mom knows these are essential to life post delivery. As well as the hair tie, sports bra, and hospital water cup that reminds you how much water you should be drinking but you're too tired to remember. And throw some adjusting hormones, hot flashes, and sleep deprivation in there for good measure, and they send you on your way and tell you to schedule an appointment in 6 weeks but call sooner than that if you feel depressed. Right. Got it. Survive and keep all the humans alive.


In all seriousness, this pregnancy with Clara seemed to be my easiest. I think I knew better what to expect so the pains of pregnancy didn't surprise me or weigh as heavily on me this go round, and when you have two other munchkins running around there isn't a whole lot of extra time or energy to feel sorry for yourself. We aren't planning on any more pregnancies so I tried to savor this pregnancy and treasure it, knowing that it would probably be my last. Pregnancy really is tough, but it's truly such a treasured experience too. The ying and the yang, maybe. All good things take work and sacrifice and some pain before you get to reap the glory, and I think most moms would say that pregnancy and birth are worth the end result. Until toddlerhood. Then the gift doesn't always feel like a gift, and we want to know who tricked us and where can we get a refund.

Motherhood is so unique and yet universal. The more I talk to other women who have children, the more I hear how similar our hearts are for our kids and I see themes in our daily struggles. We struggle with guilt and not feeling good enough, we wonder what we should be doing better or different. We are tired. We wonder if what we're doing matters in the world and in our families, we question our purpose and sometimes feel bored inside the four walls of our homes; sometimes we lose ourselves in the midst of motherhood. We neglect ourselves, not out of martyrdom, but out of a shallow pool where energy and time are often limited. It's easy to feel isolated as a mom, or as a person, really. We think we're alone, that no one else feels what we feel, that somehow we are the exception to the rule. We get overwhelmed by our own thoughts and feelings, and when we don't have other people to talk us down from the ledge it can be tough to see what's reality and what's the result of limited circumstances that won't last forever.

I was texting with a dear friend last week, and we got to talking about the fact that things are so different nowadays. Apparently we're old ladies at heart and remember back when the stamp cost 32 cents. She mentioned that raising kids is hard and that people are busy, and I said that it takes a village but these days everyone wants to keep to themselves so forming a village is tough. We said we thought motherhood would be easier if we could do it together without the judgment and competition. A seemingly easy concept, but somehow we struggle to achieve this in our culture today. And I know I'm part of that problem. I like to hide out in my house in my sweatpants (see, there are those stretchy pants again) with my own kids. I don't want to deal with other people's kids or have to engage in conversations. And we all know we do our fair share of judging other moms and their kids in public. At least our kids aren't as bad as theirs, am I right? Motherhood is tough. It's a heavy load, but if we do it together, wanting the success of our sisters just as much as our own, I deeply believe it could change things. It would change us, the kinds of moms we are, our kids, and the world. We might still feel exhausted, neglecting our hygiene more than we'd like to admit, but at least we would know we had a village on our side. Knowing we're not alone comes at a cost, it requires something of us, but the reward we can reap is invaluable and irreplaceable. 

Motherhood is a life long job. We can't quit or at least we shouldn't. We carry those little lives around in our hearts and in our minds even when they're not with us. Who they're becoming rests in large part on our shoulders, and that's a heavy weight. We all have different experiences within being moms and we have differing styles and ways of raising our kids, but let's come together on common ground and love each other well. Because there's no truer friend who can understand the angst of going past your due date, of being spit up or pooped on (again), of not being able to squeeze back into jeans that actually have a button and zipper, or of just wanting one (okay, two) more hours of sleep. Let's build our village. Let's be a part of someone's else village. It doesn't have to take grand and huge gestures. Organize a mom's night. Take a meal to a mama who needs it. Babysit so someone can have a minute to themselves or with their partner. Offer to co-clean a friend's house and do yours the next week. Host a mom and kid's breakfast or Bible study at your house. Text a friend. Meet at the park. Drop off coffee. The possibilities are endless. And I think we will find as we help to become someone else's village, we'll end up building our own in the process. And there is safety in numbers, which becomes increasingly important as we quickly become outnumbered by the little people we're raising.