Good Mom
My Precious Child,
I don't know where your path will take you. Right now, you're a 20 lb. bundle of love snuggled up on my chest, with only question marks ahead of you. There's a possibility, decades from now, that you may find yourself sitting in a gliding chair, rocking your baby just as I am doing right now. There's also a possibility that you will choose to never have children. Please know that either choice can be wonderful. You don't have to be a mother. You can be strong, smart, loving, kind, and happy without ever giving birth or raising a child of your own. If that is your choice, you can stop reading this letter and read a beautiful book of your choosing. However, knowing that you have likely inherited my intense curiosity, I'm going to venture a guess that you won't stop reading no matter what. Good for you.
Motherhood is the hardest job you'll ever love. I heard that once and will never forget it because it's the absolute truth. It will shape you and change you and scare you and challenge you in ways you never even thought about before you saw that first ultrasound that looked more like a jelly bean than a human but holy cow was it adorable. There will be so many voices in society and even in your own mind trying to convince you that you're inadequate. Tell them to shut up because, gosh darn it, you're a good mom.
There will be a moment during your 9th month of pregnancy when your feet are swollen and your back is throbbing. You will snap at people who don't deserve it. You will grow tired of the strangers staring at your belly. You will feel anxious and terrified and impatient - so impatient that you will walk and walk and walk and research any possible way to induce labor while barely holding back the urge to scream, "GET OUT!!!!"
And there will come a moment during the most intense stage of labor when you can't possibly imagine another contraction. You will think back on your birth plan and remember that you had insisted no drugs. NO DRUGS! You'll wonder, "Was I on drugs when I wrote that?" You weren't. But you were hopeful. You'll start to lose your mind a bit in that moment. You'll convince yourself that labor will never end. You'll be 80 years old, still in labor. The nurses will be dead and gone but you'll still be here trying to get this baby out.
Please know that whether you choose drugs or no drugs, you're a freaking superhero. And when you are convinced that one more contraction will literally break you, please say this: I'm a good mom.
If you wake up with love in your heart for that baby, make decisions throughout the day that help him/her grow into a healthy, happy human, and go to sleep with that same or more love in your heart for that growing, beautiful, exhausting, messy, amazing baby - my goodness are you a good mom. You're doing your best. Somedays that doesn't feel like enough. It is. It's enough. You're enough. You're a good mom.
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
I don't know where your path will take you. Right now, you're a 20 lb. bundle of love snuggled up on my chest, with only question marks ahead of you. There's a possibility, decades from now, that you may find yourself sitting in a gliding chair, rocking your baby just as I am doing right now. There's also a possibility that you will choose to never have children. Please know that either choice can be wonderful. You don't have to be a mother. You can be strong, smart, loving, kind, and happy without ever giving birth or raising a child of your own. If that is your choice, you can stop reading this letter and read a beautiful book of your choosing. However, knowing that you have likely inherited my intense curiosity, I'm going to venture a guess that you won't stop reading no matter what. Good for you.
Motherhood is the hardest job you'll ever love. I heard that once and will never forget it because it's the absolute truth. It will shape you and change you and scare you and challenge you in ways you never even thought about before you saw that first ultrasound that looked more like a jelly bean than a human but holy cow was it adorable. There will be so many voices in society and even in your own mind trying to convince you that you're inadequate. Tell them to shut up because, gosh darn it, you're a good mom.
There will be a moment during your 9th month of pregnancy when your feet are swollen and your back is throbbing. You will snap at people who don't deserve it. You will grow tired of the strangers staring at your belly. You will feel anxious and terrified and impatient - so impatient that you will walk and walk and walk and research any possible way to induce labor while barely holding back the urge to scream, "GET OUT!!!!"
In that moment, please put down the Evening Primrose Oil that you got at your local health mart because it doesn't work. Trust me. It just doesn't. Take a warm bath. When you're up to your neck in bubbles and you feel that tension in your back release, please say this out loud, "I'm a good mom."
And there will come a moment during the most intense stage of labor when you can't possibly imagine another contraction. You will think back on your birth plan and remember that you had insisted no drugs. NO DRUGS! You'll wonder, "Was I on drugs when I wrote that?" You weren't. But you were hopeful. You'll start to lose your mind a bit in that moment. You'll convince yourself that labor will never end. You'll be 80 years old, still in labor. The nurses will be dead and gone but you'll still be here trying to get this baby out.
Please know that whether you choose drugs or no drugs, you're a freaking superhero. And when you are convinced that one more contraction will literally break you, please say this: I'm a good mom.
And when you're bombarded with contradictory information about the pros and cons of vaccinations, bottle versus breastfeeding, cloth versus disposable diapers, crib versus co-sleeping (and the list goes on and on and on), you're going to feel no matter what you choose, someone will think you're wrong. You're not. You know your baby better than anybody. Trust yourself. Instead of reading another horror story about x, y, or z car seat.... repeat after me: I'm a good mom.
And there will come a time at 3 am when you swear the whole world is quiet except for your screaming baby. You're pacing the floor of your newborn's room and wondering why he/she hates you so much. Does he/she not understand how much I love him/her? Is it an ear infection? Teething? Diaper rash? Gas? Is this the loudest baby ever? Is this the Energizer Bunny version of crying babies? Going and going and going and - wait what? This book says babies should sleep 14 hours a day. That's bullshit! How was my baby not cc-ed on that message?
You'll want to cry. You'll want to scream. You'll want to curl up on the carpet in your baby's room and sleep for a decade. The worst feeling of guilt and shame and inadequacy will creep up in your chest and you'll be tempted to say that you're a bad mom. I challenge you to never allow yourself to speak such hateful words. In that moment of frustration at 3 am, with a screaming infant in your arms, please hold that baby close and say this in the calmest voice you can muster: I'm a good mom.
If you wake up with love in your heart for that baby, make decisions throughout the day that help him/her grow into a healthy, happy human, and go to sleep with that same or more love in your heart for that growing, beautiful, exhausting, messy, amazing baby - my goodness are you a good mom. You're doing your best. Somedays that doesn't feel like enough. It is. It's enough. You're enough. You're a good mom.
Love Always and Forever,
Mom
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