This Is Motherhood by Suzanne Gale, March 2008
Before I had kids, I was the perfect mother. Seriously. I had the answers to everything. If you had a parenting problem, I totally had the answer, and I would happily give it to you whether you wanted it or not. Usually, my parenting expertise came from my firm belief that in order to be a great parent, you had to do the exact opposite of what my parents did to me while I was growing up. Because, like many single, young adults with no children, I believed that my parents had been the worst parents ever. Like, in history.
So imagine now, if you will, the shock that came over me when I first realized that perhaps I did not have all of the answers to everything. The first surprise came not long after I became pregnant with my first child. At the time, I was working at Victoria’s Secret, which, as it turns out, is the worst place to work while you’re pregnant. But no worries, I thought. I will be one of those haute, sexy, all-boobs-and-belly pregnant chicks who are actually hotter when they’re pregnant. (Yes, seriously, that was my expectation.) But – surprise! – it turns out I’m not one of those super sexy pregnant chicks after all. I was swollen. I was cranky. I chopped off all of my hair so that when I vomited at work, the vomit didn’t get in my hair. Oh, and I vomited a lot, which I think is actually the opposite of sexy, as defined by Webster. In other words, I was a completely normal pregnant chick. And being a completely normal pregnant chick, I hated spending 40 hours a week stocking and selling pretty, lacey, naughty sweet-things that would no longer fit around the expanding girth of my body. It got pretty depressing. But I was forced to let that go. I had to. I had to just accept what was happening to my body and just be okay with it. But let me tell you, Victoria’s Secret was a tough place to do that.
The second shock came when I (finally) went into labor with my son. I’d already had it all planned out in my head how the labor and delivery was going to go down. There would be soothing music, some soft yoga stretches, and two semi-hard pushes before my child was then blissfully born. Oh, also there would possibly be a few glistening beads of sweat on my brow. And my cheeks would definitely have a rosy glow. Ummm, yeah. Again, this was seriously my expectation. So I was surprised – and frickin’ annoyed – when my labor took 19 hours once I was at the hospital. And the first 14 of those hours were filled with screaming, and swearing, and smacking the headphones (which were playing soft, soothing music) from my husband’s hands. All of this was because I was too scared to get an epidural. I had this crazy notion that I would suddenly have to sneeze, causing the anesthesiologist to accidentally stick me one millimeter too low, and I would then be paralyzed from the waist down. But after 14 long, horrid hours, I simply didn’t care anymore…paralysis from the waist down actually sounded kind of good. So the epidural was administered and all was well after that.
When my son was born, all I could think was this little boy is perfect. While holding him for the first time, the notion of me ever trying to remain “hot” while carrying him seemed trite and utterly unimportant. He was my little love, with a beautiful, big head that I just wanted to smooch from his tiny body. I could have turned into an elephant from the neck down, and it just wouldn’t have mattered. I no longer mattered so much.
Other surprises came quickly, one after another, when we brought him home and he began to grow. It didn’t take me long to realize that instead of having all of the answers to everything, I actually had none of the answers to anything. I didn’t interact with him like I thought I would have. I didn’t discipline him like I originally thought I should have. Everything was new and stressful and wonderful. Things that I imagined would be terrible or impossible were often easy and no big deal. Things that I gave little thought to before hand—things that I thought would be a breeze—like potty training and grocery store temper tantrums, often had me in tears. I’ve done many things over the years that I wouldn’t do again the same way, but I’ve learned. I’ve adjusted. I’ve gotten better.
The most recent surprise came when I became pregnant with my daughter. At the time, my son was only 2 ½. Up until that point, he’d had my undivided attention. All of my cuddles. All of my story reading. My always listening ear. Everything. I was so nervous during my second pregnancy that I would be a terrible mother to my second baby. I mean, there was no way that I could possibly love another child like I loved my son. The second child would have to pick up on this favoritism at some point. The second child would be scarred, becoming a dysfunctional adult, eventually venting to a therapist about how big brother got all of the love and attention. The best I could do, I thought, would be to fake my level of love for my second child. The second child could never, ever know of my actual love levels… This whole crazy neurosis ended up being completely ridiculous, because when my daughter was born, my heart doubled somehow; she just plopped herself right in there along side her brother. There’s no way I could do without either of them. They are a precious pair. I love her every bit as much as her big brother… somehow. I don’t know how the multiplying heart thing works, so I can’t explain it. But I can tell you that it’s real.
I suppose the good thing about never having any answers and never having an accurate expectation about anything, is that everything – every big moment – is a huge, wonderful surprise. I am amazed and grateful for the ways my kids have changed me. I am in awe of what raising them has taught me. And I’m just downright shocked at my ability to love so deeply and so much. Motherhood, and all that it entails, has been the greatest surprise of my life.
About the author: Suzanne Gale is a mother of two children. You can read more on her personal blog , The World According To Suz.
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