We’ve all been there – the first-time mom. What a whirlwind!
The new mom phase is exhausting, and not just because we are adapting to living with interrupted sleep, but also because we suddenly find ourselves quite literally with a life in our hands. Baby care in and of itself is intimidating. Add to it a tablespoon of crushing pressure to do everything right and a teaspoon of self-doubt that you even know anything at all. Plus, the advice. Everyone loves to advise a new mom. It’s a lot, and personally, I don’t miss it.
That being said, as a new mom, I was bursting with motivation. My own eagerness to be a good mother encouraged me to do everything I could to reach that goal. I read the books. I learned the techniques and diligently pursued the parenting styles I believed were best. I worked overtime mentally, choosing to spend my son’s naps reading about gentle parenting, breastfeeding, and helping baby reach his milestones. I bought all organic, I researched every parenting decision and age and stage, and I worried, often.
Looking back, I recognize that I was in stubborn pursuit of a naïve belief that I could be a near-perfect mom if only I put in the work.
But as time went on, early motherhood went with it. I moved from first-time, to second-time, to third-time mom and with each new child came less reading, less research, less perfection. With the naivety of early motherhood went the motivation to give it my all. Fatigue got the best of me and I gave an embittered admission that the perfect mom I had planned to be was a pipe dream all along.
Recently I was speaking to a friend, a fellow “old-timer” mom, about how we change as mothers over time. We laughed, remembering together the anxiety that comes with early motherhood and thanking God we were passed it. She understood me when I said I was glad I’d reached the point where I have become the mother I am and not the mother I tried to be. Because if I’m being honest with myself, those two mothers are not the same person. For the most part, I’m ok with that. I don’t want my life to always feel like work.
Sometimes I need to be the lazy mom who pretends not to hear her kids fight or walks by the dirty dishes a dozen times before mustering the motivation to clean them. I can’t always get down to my daughter’s level when she throws a tantrum and ask what makes her heart hurt. I can’t respond to my baby within 5 seconds every time she cries. I take long showers, alone, as often as possible.
However, as liberating as it feels to be removed from the anxiety of early motherhood, a big part of me wonders if I’ve totally dropped the ball. I miss the intentionality in which I use to pursue being a parent. One of my dear friends just recently became a first-time mom. When I speak to her, I hear the familiar anxieties in her voice and I utter, “Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry.” But in the back of my mind, I ask myself, am I worried enough?
This friend of mine has told me multiple times how she admires me as a mother and it flatters me, especially in light of her early motherhood eagerness. Because from my point of view, she’s attacking this with more vigor than I am. I feel old and worn out in comparison. If anything, I admire her for reminding me of lessons long forgotten and feel she’s the real source of wisdom. No, she can’t teach me about toddler years, or sibling interactions, or the first day of school, or bullying, or breaking your kid’s heart. But she’s reminded me that sometimes it’s good to reference a book, that usually it’s better to search for a solution than to throw your hands up, that our babies do deserve our impassioned pursuit to be the best mother we can be {even when we are tired}, and that intentionality in motherhood is worth the work.
No, we don’t need to be perfect, but we should try to be the best version of ourselves for our kids. So even though I am not a new mom, perhaps it’s time I start acting like one. Except this time, I’ll skip the anxiety.
