A Year of Motherhood

I’m obviously very glamorous.

This week marks a year that our Little Fella has been in our life. In many ways I feel like the same person I’ve always been, just with a tiny buddy who looks just like me, makes a big mess, and deters me from actually getting anything done professionally. In other ways I know that I’ll never be the same person I was before Ethan entered the world.

For starters, I will never not be worried. Long gone are the days when I can walk into a room and just exist in it. Now, I enter the room and assess all the ways in which my child is going to maim or kill himself. I worry about something happening while he sleeps. I worry about car accidents and house fires, bee stings and the drug epidemic; I worry about bathtub drowning or incurable illnesses. I worry that I’m not doing enough during the day to encourage learning. I worry that I’m not patient enough, I worry that I’m too loosey goosey and that he needs more discipline. I worry. I worry. I worry.

If possible, I love my husband more than I ever thought possible. I love watching my guys together. I love the love they have. I’m also way meaner to my husband that I was pre-baby. My fuse is shorter. By the end of the day I’m touched out and crave quiet and personal space in way that is not always great for a marriage.

My sense of hearing is on fire. Ethan could be three houses down and whimper a little and I would hear it. I don’t know how to explain this, but it’s like my senses exploded when he was born.

My ability to love is so much bigger than I ever thought possible. It is a part of everything that I do and think and say. My capacity to love more doesn’t just translate to Ethan (although he is the main recipient), but to everything I do and every person I meet. I give people more credit than I used to now; I judge less and listen more. Life is hard and we’re all just doing the best we can. In the end we’re each and every one of us someone’s baby. 

I miss being by myself. I miss being able to dictate my own schedule, to work when I want to work, to eat when I want to eat, to sleep when I want to sleep. If I’m lucky The Little Fella sleeps for two hours a day, if I’m not lucky I might get a half hour nap out of him. Those times are the only time I have to clean, to eat a meal without having to share it with grabby little hands, and to work—because I still need to be a productive member of society. It’s not easy and sometimes I really miss the freedom of my pre-baby life.

But in the end, I’m happier than I have ever been. There has not been a day in the last 369 days that I haven’t smiled. The days are hard, but they’re better than they have ever been before. There is not a day that goes by that I’m not in awe of the person I made. And really, really amused by him. He’s a funny guy. 

Happy Birthday Little Fella! Thank you for making me a mom. Now please take a nap.

 

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