I can’t say I ever had a strong calling to be a mother.
It seemed like an inevitable step I would take one day but always seemed to be in the distant future.
My thought process throughout the years went a little like this:
21 years old – Hahahaha! No really. No. I work in a children’s clothing shop. Best birth control ever. No.
25 years old – I don’t know how to take care of myself. So no.
28 years old – I am going to be a high flying career woman. Hear me roar! No kids!
30 years old – Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Is that a clock I’m hearing?
31 years old – Oh my god. CAN I STILL EVEN HAVE CHILDREN? WHAT HAVE I DONE?
32 years old – I have never held a newborn until now. Shit.
In short, I met a boy. I dated the boy (who, after 10 years of dating I could safely call a man), married and honeymooned with the man and then poof! Made a baby. (Thank you, litres of wine in Italy…)
As someone who politely “passed” when offered to hold a newborn, I did not enter into my new role as mother with an overwhelming sense of confidence.
And only 5 months into the gig, there are so many surprises that have greeted me and lessons I have learned. There have been a lot of tears; tears of happiness, frustration, anger and joy. I have had some truly befuddling moments and some moments that have made me prouder than I could have ever imagined.
Tina Fey, a woman crush of mine, once said, “Being a mom has made me so tired. And so happy.”
And dear god, I am so tired. All the time. But so happy. So so happy.