It’s after 10 pm just days before this article is due for publication, and I’m just now considering putting pen to paper. This is my new life. The over-planned, always-early, detail-oriented woman is now the over-tired, always-caffeinated, sometimes forgetful mommy. My nipples hurt from the teething efforts of a fussy 10-month-old. My conversations occur in broken sentences earmarked by poor grammar. And, I fantasize about sleeping through the night.
This is the reality of motherhood.
People didn’t tell me that postpartum depression and anxiety are so common that approximately 1 in 5 moms struggle post-birth. I wasn’t told that I would pump so often that my husband and I would make up songs to my blasted pump’s incessant rhythm. No one told me that six weeks of colic would look like an eternity of tears and feel like the constant bouncing on a yoga ball to soothe one’s pitiful infant.
Then again, no one told me that I would fall so deeply in love that the thought of hiring a babysitter would be physically painful. No one told me that I would cry at the thought of weaning. No one told me that a small hand patting my chest in the middle of the night would bring a smile to my weary face.
This is also the reality of motherhood.