The Truth About Being A Mom
I walk the beaten path
of Mother
Stepping into the unknown
squinting
as if I can force my eyes
to see it
I type these words as my body spreads across my partially-made bed, the sheets loosely pulled to the top, a changing pad and basket of diapers neighbor my fallen legs, my back leans its weight against a pile of propped pillows that sandwich between myself and the bedroom wall. I’m wearing my favorite oversized sweatpants, a mustard color with baggy pockets and tattered hems, and an old cozy cloth bra that now snugs around my milk-producing chest (a sensation I’ve learned to tolerate). My hair falls down over my shoulders and upper-half of my back, crimped from the braid I slept in, now free from the tight bun it sat in all morning long. I can smell myself, and can’t say it’s pleasant (if you’ve been with a baby all day long, you know). The monitor sounds as my baby yaps to her stuffed moon, then goes silent as she sticks her thumb in her mouth (finally).
Outside the bedroom lays a trail of crumbs and scattered books and toys, spilling into each room, blending the divided spaces into one. Freshly baked blueberry muffins cool on the stovetop and just a trace of lukewarm coffee sits in the stained glass pot. My baby, now sleeping, spreads her arms to each side, as she lays horizontally (not vertically, the way I put her down) in her hand-me-down crib. The old dryer runs directly below me and the heat blows through the dusty vents. The familiar sounds and smells of home and current life.
I am a mother now, an obvious statement I suppose, as evidence shouts from every corner of my life. And here’s the thing I’m learning about motherhood; it is a beautiful surrender and a sobering game of control.
Every day, I surrender to:
Timeliness
Plans
Expectation
Fear
Tidiness
And love
Every day, I fight to control:
Timeliness
Plans
Expectation
Fear
Tidiness
And love
In this heightened state of love and worry, there is a deep longing to control; to be safe, to predict okayness for you and your family. Motherhood is a relentless yin and yang of gripping and releasing, a constant tug-of-war. To surrender is to acknowledge and accept the unknown. To control is to try to know the unknown. As a mother, I desperately want both.
It is as if you have found yourself in a small boat in the middle of the ocean and for a split-second, you feel the salty water call you in with its vastness and beauty. So, you jump, plunging your bare body into the cold waters, gravity first pulling you down before can you return to the surface for air. And once you do come up for that first breath, you realize what you’ve done; you are far from land in unfamiliar, perhaps even dangerous, territory. Before you can talk yourself down and enjoy the buoyancy of the water as sunrays create a canvas of moving glitter across its surface, you frantically climb back into the wobbly raft, scratching and bruising your flesh with urgency. You want to float in the middle of the ocean, connected and free and alive. And, you desperately crave safety inside that boat, as it makes its way back to land. This whole motherhood thing feels impossible at times; you want to let go and you need to know it is all going to be okay.
Becoming a mother spans far beyond the pattern of giving and finding yourself again; I have found that to be just a sliver of it. Becoming a mother embeds this long thread of wisdom, a heavily-walked trail, connecting you with everything else. I have learned a thousand lessons this past year and I suppose I will learn a million more in my lifetime. Each one reminding me of my humanness and nature. Each one asking for surrender and control.
P.S. We are on the same trail.
