It is really awkward to be sitting here writing my first ever Mommy Blog. I’m not a writer by nature, and I certainly never thought I would one day be a mother.
About 6, 7 or 8 years ago (I started to lose track of life events when I hit my early thirties), I had a 20 pound cyst removed from one of my ovaries. With its removal, 90% of that ovary went, too. My tubes were crushed, and though my other ovary remained, the doctors said it would be next to impossible to have children without massive amounts of intervention.
My husband and I mourned the loss of our future children, and after a short period of time, we moved on.
Between then and now, a lot of life has happened. My husband left his job working for an airline. I started a business. We got into a really great groove of DINKdom (the lifestyle of a DINK, Double Income, No Kids). We kept busy with the constant stateside travel, trips abroad and beer tours galore. We invested heavily into our retirement plans.
And then, BOOM. After half a decade of thinking the next to impossible was impossible, I became pregnant.
I cried a lot when I found out. I was scared.
When you believe your life is heading in a very specific direction, and that immediately changes, it feels like you’re floating in an unfamiliar abyss of nothingness. And not in the comfortable, meditative way.
My business had just started to skyrocket a few months prior. My band was gigging every weekend. My two-bedroom house was finally starting to get put together in an adult way. I hosted trivia at the Wharf every week, spoke at conferences, and spent a lot (maybe too much) time out with friends and colleagues at the Millworks or SpringGate or Pizza Boy.
How was I going to be able to do all of these things AND be a good mother?
My husband and I are the opposite ends of a magnet. Where he wants to pull, I want to push. So naturally, when I started crying and frantically yelling “I’m pregnant!” on repeat, he cried, too, but for very different reasons.
“Our life has been so great. It is so great… but I have always felt like something was missing,” he told me. I had been on the verge of complete panic, but he calmly assured me: “This is what we’ve been missing.”
Looking back on that memory from two years ago – terrified and barefoot in the kitchen (yes, I get the irony) – I didn’t believe him at the time, but it turned out that he was right. This was what we had been missing.
I love being my daughter’s mother. I love singing to her and dancing with her and reading a thousand stories a day to her. (I get tired around book 783.) She has made me try harder at something than I’ve ever tried at anything before in my life: being a good mom.
As a family, we decided that my husband would be the stay-at-home parent. Well, actually, it was really my husband’s idea, but I embraced it. I still wanted to be the “do it all” girl after she came along.
Even before the coronavirus, I had started to slow down, but not before attempting to keep up with everything at first. I took a month off after she was born. The following month? I did seven gigs, continued back at trivia, spoke at two engagements, and had countless meetings. But you know what? It didn’t feel the same. I didn’t feel the same. I didn’t love being busy as much as I had used to.
It was incredibly shocking to me that I didn’t want to leave my house to go do all my favorite things. I wanted to sit around and stare at my lump of a baby – who, by the way, didn’t do any tricks yet.
As the months went on, the less I did, but I didn’t mind at all. I loved (and love) spending my free time counting out loud to 100, teaching the kid how to grind coffee beans, and watching her fail repeatedly at spoon usage. Hands are the ultimate spoon, though, so it’s cool.
To me, every moment I spend with her is magic.
Obviously, when the pandemic hit, musical engagements and trivia halted, but the business thankfully did not. Corona also gave me a great excuse to stay home and stare at my very active, not-really-a-lump-anymore baby.
The only thing that’s hard for me from time-to-time is that since my husband is the stay-at-home parent, he’s definitely her preferred parent, and I am the one who is missing out on a lot of those firsts. My hurt feelings can be a real intense struggle, but that’s another story for another day.