We struggled for years to conceive our first daughter, Evelyn. During that time, I wanted to be a mother so, so, so badly. I wanted to see a positive pregnancy test…I wanted to feel a baby kick…I wanted to see my baby for the first time…I wanted to breastfeed…all of those “mommy” things I would spend my days dreaming about. Below are the snapshots in time that led me toward the time when I started to actually feel like a mom.
The Positive Pregnancy Test
Eventually after years of waiting and so many prayers, I got that positive pregnancy test. Did I feel like a mother? Nope. I felt completely freaked out. I had looked down on at least 150 negative pregnancy tests. And this one said PREGNANT. I waited for the “not” to pop up… but it never did. That moment? I did not feel like a mother, I felt like a teenager.
I was excited, don’t get me wrong, but “motherly” was the last feeling on the list of insane emotions I was going through!
First Baby Kicks
I don’t remember the exact moment it happened, but those first baby kicks…oh man, those were weird. I thought it was gas. Then I realized that two tiny little baby feet were moving around. Did that make me feel like a mother? Nope. Honestly, it weirded me out. It was cool to watch but reminded me of the movie Alien. Strike two, another “moment” where I thought I should feel one way…but felt another. Then when the baby was bigger, and we could literally watch her moving around…sweet, but freaky!
The First Look
A lot of people say you’re never really ready to have a baby. We were SO ready. I mean, sure, it’s scary and you don’t really know what you’re doing…but we were ready. I had waited so long to see her sweet little face. I counted down the minutes until I could finally hold her. Then, when my doctor lifted her up and put this teeny tiny little miracle on me, I saw her face for the first time… I still didn’t feel like a mother. I had a tiny, slimy, baby stranger laying on my chest.
Breastfeeding
Those awesome pictures of mothers breastfeeding and bonding with their child–now THAT would make me feel like a mother, right? No such luck. Breastfeeding was full of pain and anxiety and lots and lots of tears. I could go on for days about breastfeeding. To sum it up…it didn’t work for us, and it literally almost killed me. After coming home from the hospital after surgery due to complications from breastfeeding, that ship had sailed. And again, I didn’t feel like a mother.
But There’s A Happy Ending Here
Today I do feel like a mother. I feel like a mom so hard that I laugh at myself, regularly. I’m a minivan-driving, Instagram-posting, coffee-guzzling mama bear and I love every minute of it. My girls are my world and while “Mother” isn’t my only title, it’s one of my favorites.
But when did it happen, you ask?
What glorious moment in my life did the clouds finally part and the sun shone down upon me and I thought “I am a mother!”
It was when my two-year-old walked up to me and handed me a booger.
I so wish I could tell you differently, but that was it. Seriously. She walked up to me, lifted her little hand, and said, “Here, Mommy!” And it was a booger. My immediate thought was, “Oh my gosh, I’m the mom!” and it just spiraled from there.
I feel like a mother when I hear that call from the bathroom to wipe a butt.
I feel like a mother when bedtime is dragged out for way longer than I want it to be with “One more kiss!” “I need to ask you a question!” “Will you rub my back?”
I feel like a mother when I find myself saying, “Because I said so” or “Because I’m the mom.”
I feel like a mother when I spend time away from my girls working for my own company (the third baby), to show them that anything is possible if you work hard enough.
I feel like a mother when I look across the room at my two little miracles playing together, singing together, dancing together.
It took me a lot longer than most women I know (unless I’m wrong and there are more of you out there!) but I finally feel like a mom. My heart just bursts when I really take a look at my girls, I am so grateful, and we have SO MUCH FUN.
