“I’m going to bed, so tired ugh. Join if you want.” It was 9:22pm on a Saturday night and my husband turned off the movie we were both only partially watching.
I didn’t want to go to bed. I wanted to go out. It was raining and cold outside, perfectly fine reasons to stay in during a typical Oregon winter night but tonight, it felt like a tragedy. At almost 36 weeks pregnant, I was already wearing a bathrobe and barely able to drive from point A to point B without badly needing a potty break but the thought of this being maybe one of our last Saturday nights before becoming parents…it suddenly terrified me. The combination of covid and being pregnant for the past nine months meant that I missed out on so many things already, like traveling or going to shows and parties and happy hours, spas and rock climbing and snowboarding. Of course they were all small sacrifices compared to the joyful anticipation of my baby coming but it’s only fair to acknowledge the losses.
But it was already 9:30pm and I hadn’t made any plans with anyone and I suddenly started to wonder what my friends have been doing without me. Or if people went out anymore at all? Were other people just home in their bathrobes on Saturday night as well, content with watching Netflix? I suddenly missed living downtown, where I could text a girlfriend, throw on a jacket and meet up at the closest dive bar for a drink or two. Every night was so full of potential back then, back when I was always looking for what I have now.
So here I am, on the cusp of motherhood. The baby could realistically come any day now, our hospital bags are packed and I think everything is ready. My son is so loved and wanted, there is absolutely no question about that in my heart. But I don’t think I’ve really examined what it will mean to become a mother. It’s going to be the single biggest change of my identity, and not something I can easily evolve or morph out of. My brain cells will literally change, all my hormones, my body, none of it will ever be the same again. Am I not allowed to pause and feel a little scared? For the rest of my life, a little human other than myself will be more important than me. Do most women just slide into this role happily, thrilled to be mothers without glancing back, even a little?
I have so many wonderful, strong and beautiful friends that have become mothers before me throughout the years. They have been reaching out and giving me advice and encouragement, sharing their struggles but also their joys with me so that I have a realistic picture of what having kids will be like. I am endlessly grateful for them. I’m like a shy kid on the beach dipping my toes in the ocean and watching everyone else bobbing with the waves and having a great time, waving at me and telling me that it’s going to be alright. I’m not worried about learning how to swim, it’s just that once I dive in, I’ll probably be swimming for a long, long time.
I’m scared of feeling isolated once the baby comes, that my nights and days will blur together, and I will be so tired 24/7. I’m afraid of not feeling like myself anymore, and people will always ask how little baby is doing instead of how I am doing, and if they do ask about me I will have tell them that I am so happy to be a mother, covered in barf and all. I’m afraid that I’ll get bored, that friends won’t call anymore assuming that I’ll be unavailable, and that the loss of my independence will shadow some of the joys of new motherhood.
…but what if it is glorious, and Saturday nights out on the town will be forgotten once I kiss and cuddle my baby’s sweet, soft face? What if my heart changes too, and once I become a mother I won’t want to look back anymore? What if becoming a mom ends up being the best thing I’ve ever done? I have a feeling it will be.
