Mommy bloggers truly intimidate me. As a public relations specialist, I frequently engage with these blogs and their creators. I can name the children of various bloggers, even those I’ve never met. I know which high-end baby moccasins are in vogue for little feet that have a knack for kicking off pricey footwear. I have learned how to make DIY bow ties for adorable little boys, and yet I’ve never had a charming little boy of my own. Additionally, I’ve picked up tips on how to look runway-ready just moments after giving birth, should that knowledge ever be required.
However, it’s not their impressive domestic talents that unsettle me; it’s their overwhelming love for their children. These bloggers clearly adore their kids so much that they feel compelled to write, post, tweet, and broadcast every little moment to the world.
As I navigate my own pregnancy, the love I feel for my unborn child is immense. I cherish the connection I have with her, delighting in her kicks and pondering her future personality. Yet, I find myself far from dancing in meadows singing about it, or posting weekly baby-bump updates. Instead, I lean toward binge-watching Netflix, indulging in cookies, and grappling with the daunting to-do list that awaits me before I bring a new life into the world. This constant comparison to these blogging superstars of motherhood fills me with anxiety.
One question looms heavily in my mind during this pregnancy: Will I become a mommy blogger myself once my baby arrives? Writing is my profession, and I wonder if my love for my child will transform her into my primary source of inspiration. Will I find myself crafting blog posts about delightful outings to the zoo and the amazing coupon I discovered? Will I flood Instagram with countless photos of her in various poses and flower crowns, making others feel as if their lives and children don’t measure up? (A gentle reminder to everyone: let’s reconsider the flower crowns and the overly staged photo shoots.)
What kind of love drives people to do all that? I’ve never truly experienced it, and it terrifies me that I soon might. I love my husband deeply, but I don’t spend hours assembling cute accessories for him and then stage photo ops. I adore my dog, but I don’t affix stickers to his back each month, snapping photos of his antics, which largely involve licking himself and obsessively chewing the same tennis ball. Clearly, the love for a child is something unique. It will be new and stronger than anything I’ve felt before, and that thought is overwhelming.
I suspect my therapist would point out that I fear this new depth of love because it comes with the risk of loss. Babies, like everything else in life, are not guaranteed. There’s no certainty that my child will be happy, healthy, or even live a full life. The love of a parent is a profound risk, and I find it hard to comprehend how one can navigate the potential heartbreak that comes with such unconditional love. I know mothers do it every day, but whatever strength they possess seems beyond my reach, and it frightens me to love someone that deeply.
I also ponder when this extraordinary love will manifest. I already feel love for my daughter, but I anticipate that it will evolve once she’s in my arms. Will it overwhelm me with joy and devotion, or will it gradually build as I see her smile for the first time? Right now, I’m mostly focused on my growing belly while munching on chips to combat nausea, and I don’t feel that rush of motherly joy. Is this normal? Am I already failing as a mother for expressing these thoughts? The questions are endless.
Pregnancy seems to be a journey filled with inquiries rather than answers. Even medical professionals can’t fully explain the intricacies of what’s happening in my body. And the internet is no help; a single search can convince you that you’re developing bizarre conditions, or worse, that your baby is a three-headed monster.
Eventually, I will need to accept the unknowns and relinquish control to a higher power—someone I believe I should trust but who remains an enigma. I must fully embrace the reality of my pregnancy, acknowledge that I’m already a mother, and prepare for a love that will change my life in ways I can’t yet fully grasp. It will be okay, perhaps even wonderful. I will remain true to myself, not morphing into a caricature who runs product giveaways for laundry detergent. I will continue to be me, with the added joy of sharing this journey with a tiny sidekick, whether I choose to blog about it or not. Right? That’s how it should be? Perhaps I should explore some more mommy blogs for guidance.
This article was originally published on Oct. 3, 2015.
For those seeking additional information on the subject of pregnancy and home insemination, this is an excellent resource: March of Dimes. For a deeper dive into the journey of parenthood, you can also check out Make A Mom, which is an authority on this topic. And for more insights, feel free to visit Intracervical Insemination.
In summary, the journey of motherhood can be overwhelming, filled with love, questions, and uncertainties. While mommy bloggers may provide an inspiring yet intimidating glimpse into this world, it’s crucial to remember that every experience is unique. Embracing the unknown and allowing love to take its course is part of the adventure.