Is Your Pre-Baby Self Gone Forever? (Please Advise).

This post by Renegade Mothering that I discovered over the weekend is a brutally honest (and brutally beautiful) essay on becoming a mother, and how it's exactly like becoming a homeowner or a pet owner or a doctor or a writer. Except not at all. Because those roles don't bring a permanence and a responsibility and a kind of fear that can cripple you and awe you at the same time (if you really, really love your iguana, then maybe you fall into that category, too. Iguanas are awesome, yo).

Most of the commenters on the post were so grateful that somebody addressed the hardships and the shock and the "loss" that comes with having a baby. And I thought the essay was superb and poignant, and, yes, I completely related. No amount of stroller shopping can prepare you for the change — one that seemingly happens overnight, forget those long nine months — that slaps you in the face (and elsewhere, too!) after your wee babe enters the world. It's huge. It's scary as shit. And it's forever.

The author focuses a lot on those first few months after the baby arrives, which are admittedly really, really hard. For me, though, that time after Leo arrived, when I was sleep-deprived and up half the night breastfeeding and happy just to make it to the shower, things were so SIMPLE — so basic — and life was so streamlined that I was able to make it through without feeling as much of a sense of sadness or devastation as I thought I would. My expectations for my life while I had an infant baby were so low, that the only things on my agenda each day were "feed baby. Feed self. Shower. Get baby to sleep. Get self to sleep. Take one 45-minute walk with baby in the stroller, up and down the San Francisco hills, to try to burn off some of the baby weight. Watch a whole lot of bad TV." That was pretty much it. It felt like a time suspended OUT of time, and I enjoyed a lot of it for exactly what it was: survival, and snuggling with my little one.

Life SINCE then has been much harder. The older your child gets, the more you hunger for some of the independence and time and freedom you once had. For me, I've felt the loss of my "self" a lot more ever since my little one turned one. Because I expect I can be my old self AND my new self. Because I'm not really a "new" mom anymore, so can't keep saying that I am. Because reality has really, really set in, and I know that if I want to write or work out or further my career, I have to figure out how to do that while also playing Peek-a-boo.

Reading Renegade Mothering's post also made me realize something else, and (drumroll) it's this: I don't mourn the loss of my pre-pregnancy body because I'm superficial or shallow. I don't mourn it because I think I won't love myself or others won't love me if I have more imperfections than I had pre-baby. I mourn it because it's a fuckin' SYMBOL of the woman I used to be. The woman I was for 33 years before my little one arrived. Moms take a lot of beatings when they have kids. It feels like a (small) injustice that our bodies go all haywire, as well. And so, when I absentmindedly squeeze that tummy pooch in hopes I can massage it away, maybe that's just my little way of acknowledging, and learning to accept, that life has changed. For the better? Absolutely. That doesn't mean it's not a total, mindblowing culture shock.

xo,

Rebecca