Multiply & Replenish

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Adam keeps saying that I should write about my journey into motherhood. So here it is. Long, rambling, read at your own risk.

I have always been afraid of having babies. Not so much the giving birth part, but the world changing, never ending my-life-is-no-longer-my-own and I am responsible for the well-being of a very small person part. I love kids. But I wished there was a way around the first few years of babyhood when they just eat, poop, cry, and depend on you 24 hours a day.  I was terrified of taking on that kind of responsibility, and very comfortable and happy in my selfish uncomplicated life with just Adam and me.

Anyway, when we started to get to the two year mark in our marriage the guilt started to mount. My excuses for not starting a family weren’t working anymore – Adam was about to graduate, we were financially secure, I was in good health…blah blah blah. At church and stake conference I tried to ignore all the talks about starting a family, the joys of parenthood, our covenants to multiply and replenish…etc. etc. Then one night Adam came home from a priesthood interview and said that he had been told by his priesthood leader that we needed to start a family. And that just ticked me right off. The nerve! Then came general conference…and more talks and more promptings I tried to ignore. And then Adam and I started talking, really talking, about starting a family. And it became obvious that that’s what we were supposed to do, and we (mostly I) had better get over myself and get on with it.

I wasn’t sad when I found out I was pregnant, but I wasn’t exactly excited either. I was scared and I knew my life would never be the same. The first time I heard the heartbeat I expected to feel something. Some sense of love or attachment or SOMETHING. But I just found it bizarre and disconcerting to ponder the fact that there was another human growing inside me. The first ultrasound I tried to feel affection for the little person that would be my child. Again, just a sci-fi sort of bewilderment. Months went by and the baby grew and kicked and I still felt detached. And then it was time to start buying baby clothes and diapers and a car seat and the thousands of dollars of crap required for baby rearing…and still nothing. So I figured I better start praying.

I prayed for a change of heart. I prayed to love our child and to want to be a mother. I prayed to be ready for the sacrifices I would have to make to be a parent.  I prayed to be good at it. I prayed for weeks. And then my water broke. And 29 hours later a baby was placed on my chest. And it was my baby. And I didn’t feel like a mom. And I didn’t feel love.  All I could think about was how weird looking he was, that he had a huge overbite, and I hoped he didn’t grow up to be ugly and get made fun of. 20 seconds later and he was whisked away to the nursery while I spent the next four hours hemorrhaging in a semi-conscious state of shock.

By the time I saw Aaron again I was delirious with exhaustion and it was the middle of the night. Adam was snoring across the dark room, and it was just me and this baby. I stared at him and touched his little face and hands and feet and sometime during that night, I came to love that little boy. Somehow our spirits connected, and I knew he was mine, and I realized it had happened. My heart had been changed. And I cried. I wept that day for joy, out of love for my son, and gratitude for prayers answered, and humility as I recognized the blessings I had received for reluctantly, begrudgingly doing what the Lord had been telling me to for years.

It was a hard decision for me to have a baby. I didn’t want to give up my job, or my freedom, or my health, or my financial surplus. And it’s hard to actually have a baby. Sometimes I don’t know what to do and I feel overwhelmed and unqualified and completely unable to give anymore. I am exhausted, my body is a wreck, my life is out of control and ruled by the demands of a 10 lb dictator, the thought of going to work or cleaning my house is panic-inducing, and achieving some sort of normalcy or equilibrium or predictability in my life again seems an impossible goal. But at the same time, I feel joy and purpose and wholeness, and I look at Aaron and wonder how it’s possible to love a helpless, squalling little creature so much. And I wonder if I will always think about him this much, and worry about him constantly, strain to hear his movements in the other room, and try to figure out the thoughts behind his big wise eyes. And I know I will, because he’s my son.

I look at Adam holding our son and singing booming sailor songs to calm his cries and changing the 3rd poopy diaper in three minutes and I see a glimpse of him as a daddy years down the road. I see his tenderness as he greets me and Aaron at the end of the day and realize that we have both been waiting all day to be together as a family again. I hear his concern as he prays for me and Aaron and I love him more deeply than I did before. I think about what it means to have a family, and I remember that my family will be together always, and I am grateful to know that a loving God has given me a way to be with those I love most forever.

Being a mother is really hard so far. After less than a month of it, I am still fumbling around trying to figure out how to take care of a baby and still manage to brush my teeth every few days. But the rewards are well worth it. Being part of the beginning of a family, the most fundamental and long-lasting bond in existence, has changed my priorities so drastically. I can’t really explain it, but I feel like I have gotten a taste of the most important things in life.  And I’m looking forward to a lifetime spent pursuing those things.

Now I will stop, and post some pictures to make up for all this boring text.

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