I never anticipated this journey.
I expected to feel exhaustion—seriously, profound fatigue. I thought it would just be during those early months until my little one started sleeping through the night (oh, how I wished for that). What I didn’t foresee was the relentless weariness that could linger for years, leaving me in a constant state of unrest. I wasn’t prepared for the sleep regressions or the countless nights lost to teething, illnesses, transitioning to big-kid beds, trips away from home, and all the unexpected sounds in the night. And then there’s the challenge amplified with each additional child!
I knew my body would change. I steeled myself for softer curves and a lower silhouette. Those changes came, along with eczema, new freckles, and altered hair texture. What caught me off guard, however, was how unsettling it felt to be a stranger in my own skin, the body I once knew intimately. I didn’t expect to feel resilient, but carrying babies, then toddlers, and eventually preschoolers brought that unexpected perk. On a related note, I didn’t foresee the back pain that would come with it.
I thought I’d have it all figured out after my first child. I forgot that each baby is an individual, with unique personalities and needs. Siblings often share little in common beyond genetics. I was unprepared for how challenging it would be to raise a second child. My tried-and-true parenting methods didn’t work, and my routine became irrelevant. I had to remind myself that we needed to get to know each other and find our own rhythm. I didn’t realize how difficult it would be to intertwine the bond with my son and build a new connection with my daughter.
I anticipated a mix of good and bad days. What I didn’t expect was how wonderful the good days could be—moments of joy and light that exceeded anything I had imagined. Conversely, I was blindsided by the depths of the bad days—the gut-wrenching sobs of a mother who feels like she’s failing, the frustration bubbling over when patience runs thin, and the fear that grips you when your child is sick or hurt.
I expected connection with fellow mothers. I wasn’t the first among my friends to become a mom, nor was I the last. I assumed it would be a wonderful exchange of advice and playdates. Yet, I often felt isolated. Even with my husband, who stands by me through it all, and a network of supportive family and friends, there are times when motherhood feels like an isolated island.
I anticipated love, but the intensity and strength of that love took my breath away. However, it’s the fierce drive to protect my children—a compulsion even stronger than love—that has truly shocked me. It’s the part of motherhood that terrifies me. Letting go, little by little, so they can forge their own paths while I remain in the background is daunting. The thought of them pushing against my love and care, rolling their eyes at my affection, and asserting their independence is painful. I know I’ll be on the sidelines, holding back from intervening every time I see them face a risk they don’t recognize.
I expected love; I just didn’t realize how much it could hurt or what it would demand of me. This mother’s love is a complex mix of beauty, agony, and selflessness.
This journey isn’t what I expected. It’s more challenging, more exhausting, and more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. In short, motherhood is more.
For those exploring the journey of parenthood through home insemination, check out this post on intracervical insemination for more insights. If you’re considering the path of artificial insemination, Make a Mom provides great resources to assist you. Additionally, you can find helpful information on pregnancy and home insemination at WomensHealth.gov.
In summary, motherhood is a journey filled with unexpected challenges, intense love, and personal growth. It’s a beautiful, complex experience that reshapes everything we thought we knew.