on being a mother

I don't really think of myself as a mother. I mean I AM in every sense of the word, but when I think "oh I'm not feeling like a very together person today," it's just that. Person, not mother (though it's usually the result of having a baby). But I had this little epiphany last week in the yoga class I like to go with Dashiell on Thursdays. So if you would humor me for a moment, I'm going to actually write something not related to any particular picture or event or project.



(Dashiell does happy baby on his changing table. He is already an advanced baby yogi.)

This yoga class is a pre and post-natal class and I started going to it towards the end of my pregnancy, once I'd finished working. And it's great. There's a nice mix of pregnant mamas and women with their babies and especially towards the end of pregnancy it's so inspiring to see the little people rolling around before your little person comes to greet you.

Class always starts with everyone saying their name, how far along they are or how old their baby is, and generally answering a question posed by a member of the class or asked by the teacher. Thursday's question was simple... birth class: where, when, and whether you liked it. So we all went around and one of the last women to speak was Marie, who was officially due the following day.

She started to tear up a bit and I thought it might just be that her emotions were getting the better of her as she hit her due date. I remember getting a little teary at the same point. Saying "I'm due today!" and being a bit overwhelmed by what that really meant. But she starting talking, choking on her words as her tears started streaming, and she started to tell us about her birth class that she took at the hospital a few months ago and how supportive and positive all the nurses were. But that in the last two months with only her OB to consult with, she hadn't heard anything positive. Just scary things, like she might need to be induced, that her baby was getting too big and that he was now getting too skinny and that generally things were not looking as good as they could be.

And she was so scared. And we were all scared for her. And everyone started to cry. And I realized that only now that I have my baby and I've been through those last few weeks when you're so darn close to meeting him or her, but still a little freaked out that something might go wrong and uncertain about the birth, can I really understand her tears. And how terrible it must be to have your doctor telling you anything but that things are looking perfect and beautiful and that everything is going to be great. And the thing is she knows that there's a 95% chance that everything is FINE. That her baby will come out when he's supposed to and that she will be great and that he will be perfect and healthy. But then she has this doctor who has 40 years of experience telling her "worst case scenario" and she's freaking out, but trying to remember that things are going to be okay.

And I was sitting there thinking what an asshole this doctor is, on one hand, but then remembering that when you're so so close and your baby is fully cooked and ready to come, what if there is something wrong and what if he does need some help to come sooner than later? And that's where you're stuck, in that limbo place of wanting to make the right decision but not having any idea how to do it or what it is.

And see even though I don't know Marie at all, I know her.

I know her because it's in situations like this that you know all mothers and all mothers-to-be. I've learned that it's a connection that is truly unlike any other. And in some way it becomes almost harder to relate to people who aren't yet mothers. (Friends that aren't mamas yet, I still love you to pieces I swear!).

There is nothing in this world or this life that has altered the way I think and act and feel in such a profound way. And so I came to see that I'm a mother in a most real way. That I now experience my life in a way that will never be the same as it was before my son was born. And I wouldn't ever want to go back to the me before now. It's truly who I've been waiting to become, but I couldn't have realized it until I was already here. It changes you into someone who while trying to go on about normal life, (the life you had before when things were easy and you only thought about yourself), into someone who is now fundamentally different. Because there is always always a part of you that is with your child, thinking about your child and knowing that above all else, your child is your priority. That the little stresses and obligations you once felt are so small, so infinitely unimportant when compared to your baby. And everything is compared to your baby because it's now all you know.

So when Marie finished talking, we all got up with our bellies and our babies and we joined in a little huddle around Marie. And as we came together, Sienna, one of the babies, reached out and put her hand on Marie's shoulder and left if there while we gave her a few heartbeats of support. And it was really a beautiful communal moment. That all these women, all these mothers, were there together and connected and moved in a way that none of us would have been before our children were here or one their way. Totally connected. And so that is motherhood for me. A deep deep connection to life, to its frailty and its strength and its beauty and uncertainty all at once; and more importantly to all the women who are on the same beautiful path by your side. We know each other, we do. And of course there's your child, and that is something that a more seasoned, more eloquent writer would have to explain.

It's an extraordinary experience, this motherhood. Highly recommend it.