Updated: May 19, 2016
Originally Published: May 14, 2016
This is not at all what I envisioned.
I anticipated a significant level of fatigue—unbearable exhaustion, yes, but just for the initial months until my little one began sleeping through the night (send blessings my way). What I didn’t foresee was the profound weariness that could last for years, coupled with a sleep deficit that leaves me doubting if I’ll ever feel truly rested again. I had no concept of sleep regressions or the multitude of nights consumed by teething, illnesses, the transition to a “big kid” bed, trips away from home, and all the unexpected disturbances. And then there’s the added challenge of each subsequent child.
I expected my physical appearance to alter. I prepared for softer skin, lower curves, and the inevitable stretching. However, I didn’t anticipate the arrival of eczema, new moles, or changes in my hair texture. It was surprising how disconcerting these changes became, making me feel like a foreigner in my own skin, the one I thought I was familiar with. I never expected to feel empowered, but lifting babies, then toddlers, and eventually preschoolers does have its perks. That said, I also wasn’t prepared for the back pain that comes with it!
I thought that by the time my second child arrived, I’d have a handle on things. I forgot that each baby is a unique individual, complete with their own quirks and preferences. Most siblings share little beyond genetics, and I was blindsided by how challenging it could be to adjust to a second child. My previously reliable soothing techniques fell short, and my established routines became irrelevant. I had to remember that I still needed to introduce myself to my new baby, just as I did with my first, and learn to navigate our new dynamic together.
I expected a mixture of good days and bad, yet I was unprepared for how incredible the good days could be—moments of pure joy and bliss that exceeded my wildest dreams. Conversely, I had no way of anticipating the depth of despair that would accompany the bad days. The heart-wrenching sobs of a mother who feels like she’s failing, the frustration that arises when patience runs dry, and the fear that grips you when your child falls ill or gets hurt.
I anticipated camaraderie among my peers. Having friends who were also mothers, I imagined a joyful exchange of advice and fun playdates. Still, I often felt isolated. Even with a supportive husband and a close-knit family, motherhood can sometimes feel like a solitary journey.
I was ready for the love that motherhood brings, yet the intensity, depth, and ferocity of that love took me by surprise. More than anything, it’s the instinct to protect my children that overwhelms me. This compulsion, stronger than love itself, is what I found most daunting. Letting go bit by bit, allowing them to carve their own paths outside my shadow, is a painful reality. I understand they will resist my protective instincts at times, and I’ll have to endure the hurt when they roll their eyes at my affection or push away from my touch. I’ll find myself constantly on the sidelines, trying to resist the urge to intervene at every perceived risk.
I expected love; I just didn’t realize the degree of pain and sacrifice it could entail. Motherhood is a blend of brutal, exquisite, and exhausting love. In essence, this journey is far more than I anticipated.
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Summary:
Motherhood is a journey filled with unexpected challenges, profound love, and personal sacrifices. From the exhaustion that stretches over years to the joy and pain intertwined in raising children, the experience is far more complex than anticipated.