This morning that insidious little monster nagged its way inside my brain. That wormy sliver of self doubt and lack of confidence that I rarely feel about pregnancy or raising a baby. Poop doesn’t scare me, neither does pee, postpartum bleeding or incessant screaming or even the terror of teething. Those are phases that I understand and appreciate. Occasionally though I have doubts. I mean who doesn’t? Anyone that carries around this much extra hormones and a belly that is like an extra limb is allowed to have the occasional doubt. And then the thought comes or someone actually says it to you;
Your life is over.
Sounds pretty gruesome right? And what does it even mean? My sex life is over (cause I will never have privacy or feel desirable or god forbid, horny ever again?) My career is over (because I am expected to be the primary care giver?) I’ll never read another book again (hahahaha)? I’ll never get to watch what I want to watch? I’ll never get to go out and bar crawl? I’ll never see another comedy night? I’ll never pee alone again? I’ll never have any me time? I’ll never get to take a solo vacation? I’ll never get to pursue my dreams of makery? I’ll never finish another project? I’ll never write a book? I’ll never get to pursue my dreams? I’ll never have my prebaby body back? I’ll never get to have friends? I’ll always just be a mom? I have to be responsible now. I’ll never get another early morning moment of peace? I’ll never blog again? My life is over.
Do I buy into that? No. Do people actually say it to me? Unbelievably, yes they do. I also have good supportive friends who remind me that its bullshit. I have excellent examples of women who do great things, are doing great things, and have teeny little ankle biters chasing them around and calling them mama. I also have friends that are sucked in the vortex of this idea of motherhood that not only makes them miserable but makes their kids and husbands miserable well. Obviously there is not one right way but if there is one thing i have learned from observing other families, other women, and even the babies and children produced by those families its that if I lose myself, if I stop doing the things I love, stop living my life, then I will be doing baby Carl as big a disservice as I am doing myself. I already love him. I already have plans for him. I’ve already made changes and plan to make more changes to make his life better, but at the same time nothing I have done is a fundamental change in my personality. I believe he will fulfill my life, rather than end it.