When I was younger, there was nothing more I wanted than to be a mommy. I was so convinced it was my destiny in life, and I was sure I would rock at it. And I was ready to be a new mother. Ready for diapers and bottles and sleepy cuddles, and to hell with what my mom and older sister said about it because, well, what did they know?
And then I got pregnant, and after eight long months, suddenly he was here: my little bundle of joy, and I had become Mother to this squalling, pink thing.
And suddenly everything my mom and sister said was right: I wasn’t ready.
You see, Motherhood is never quite what you expect it to be. And things rarely go the way you planned them. And all of those things to which you say “Well, I would NEVER…” suddenly become things you wind up doing.
For example: I spent a lot of time judging my older sister for letting her girls sleep in her bed. And I would say: “Well, I would NEVER let my children sleep in bed with me. They should be in their own beds!”
The reality? My son spent 15 LONG months in bed with me.
Every night was a cuddle fest and it was hot and uncomfortable and I’d barely sleep because every twitch of his muscles would jolt me awake because I was convinced he was dying in his sleep. And I hated it.
But then it stopped, and he started sleeping in his crib, and my nights were free of a sweaty head pressed against my cheek, and I could stretch my limbs across the bed as I saw fit. And I should’ve been relieved but you know what? The reality was, I missed him.