When I was pregnant, the most common phrase I heard was “life will never be the same.” It was usually said in a condescending tone and it was followed by some sort of horror story. Morning sickness that actually lasted 24 hours a day for all nine months. Difficult 40-hour labors that ended in a traumatic emergency cesarean. Newborns that demanded to eat every hour and a half for the first three months of their lives. Colic. Reflux. The time little Johnny flushed Mommy’s wedding ring down the toilet. The time little Susie got lost at the department store for an hour.
Say goodbye to your body, your looks, your time, your disposable income, your friends, your sleep, your youth. No more dining out, date nights, career aspirations, happy hours, hot meals, quick errands, or pooping alone. Savor these last days of a happy marriage, and a happy existence in general, because soon you’ll be a sleep-deprived, squishy, lonely, smelly mess.
I accepted my lot. I was going to be a mother. And, therefore, I was going to be miserable.
But then I gave birth. And my own parenting journey really began.
I lay on the table after 8-hours of natural labor. My midwife tended to the parts of me that had been brutalized by my baby’s big ol’ bulbous head. My legs shook uncontrollably, and my teeth chattered as I clutched my screaming, tiny human to my chest. I was exhausted. Sweaty. Cold. Hungry. Overwhelmed. And filled with more gratitude than I knew existed. In my mind, I silently said a prayer that the meconium threat was seemingly behind us. We were here. We were healthy.
And the, out of my mouth came the following words: “That was easier than I thought it would be.”
I can only imagine the level of crazy that my nurse and midwife have previously experienced in the delivery room, but it was evident from their faces that this kind of statement was not common. They laughed, and my nurse patted me on the head.
In the months since that moment, my husband and I have often remarked to one another about how grateful we are. We’ve been privileged. We’ve been blessed. And so, we completely agree: parenting is easier than we’d expected. Our journey into new parenthood hasn’t been easy. At times it is scary. Painful. Hard.
But, as my husband often remarks, “when the bar is set low, it is easy to be pleasantly surprised.”
Of the hundreds of people – family, friends, coworkers strangers on the street – who offered me their horror stories, only one had a positive reflection to share. She said “your world will never be the same, because it will always feel infinitely better thanks to your new companion.” Our son has brought us joy and magic that we’d never experienced before. We are so head over heels in love, that trying to wrestling his squirming, crawling, poop covered bottom into a clean diaper is a laugh-inducing adventure rather than a scream-inducing nightmare.
Through living out these candid conversations, I have come to understand the strange and nearly inexplicable contradiction of being a parent: I am miserable. Miserably tired. Miserably worried. Miserably mired in Google searches for “teething remedies” and “is fill in the blank with strange baby behavior normal?” Miserably stretched thin as a mom, a wife, and a professional. But, I end every day feeling thankful for it. I am miserably in love with this whole mess, which makes it feel less messy.
There are days when I don’t shower. When I lean over at work and get a whiff of the spit up that I hadn’t known to be in my hair since breakfast. When I “tag” out of bed time duty because my munchkin’s sleep boycott and continued protests have frazzled my nerves. There have been shopping trips completed while covered in my child’s urine. Dinner dates spent rocking my fussing son by the car while the rest of the family finishes their meal inside. Sound sleeps interrupted by demands for food. There have been tears and tantrums, both my son’s and mine. There are constant worries over glasses and braces and college funds. There are assumptions of health and planning sessions for those “but, what if” concerns. Since my son was born, I’ve started every day with coffee, and I’ve ended many a day with wine. I’ve cried. I’ve complained. And, I’ve even taken myself on a few grocery runs when I’ve just needed to be alone.
But there are also snuggles in the middle of the night. Hugs and kisses and cuddles and smiles and laughter. There is a tiny hand resting against my chest as he sleeps in his carrier, strapped close to my heart. There are eyes that light up when I walk in to the room. There is a stressed and frightened person that melts into my arms in relaxation just by being held close to me. The first smile. The first laugh. The first “mama.” The first clap. The first sit up. The first crawl. The first stand.
All of these daily wondrous moments outweigh the not so fantastic moments. Holding my baby close and rocking him in my arms make the hours of sleepless shushing feel much easier to bear.
Parenting isn’t easy. Even on its best day. It is hard. It is painful. It is scary. It is messy. Very, very messy. It is hungry. It is cold. It is sleep deprived. Sometimes, it is sticky. And, it will fill you with the kind of gratitude that will make you say crazy, crazy things. Like, this is easier than they said it would be.
