What I Gave Up When I Became a Mom

Well, time keeps flying by, and I can't believe my little one's second birthday will be here in a few short months. The first friends from her playgroup turned 2 this week, which has kicked off quite a bit of reflection, thankfulness, and "slow down time!" in my mind. So, with that, I bring you a few more thoughts on my first couple of years of parenting.

Getting ready...

When I was pregnant with my daughter, I had some thoughts about the things I would have to give up when I became a mom (though at least I would get back the wine, deli meats, and unpasteurized cheeses I was so missing during pregnancy!). I imagine I anticipated things that most expectant parents do. We would give up taking spontaneous, last-minute weekend trips. We would give up spontaneous date nights (and probably date nights altogether for a little while). We would give up eating out as frequently and socializing with other adults as frequently. We would give up watching as much TV. I would give up my career for an undetermined amount of time. And most of those things did happen. I will say that we are still able to travel somewhat spontaneously (over Memorial Day weekend, for example, we decided 2 days in advance to take a trip and pulled it off), but we sure do take a lot more luggage! We're blessed with a little one who is (so far) pretty good in public, so we still eat out when we want to, but we do it around her schedule. We watch far less TV than we used to, but that's probably good for everyone! And what we've given up surely pales in comparison to what we've gained. 

Now, more than a year and a half after becoming a mom, if you asked me what I gave up, none of those things would be on my list. Instead, I would think of the things I didn't really anticipate - or at least fully appreciate - until the moment I had my baby. 

I gave up being able to not worry about myself. This seems counter-intuitive, maybe, because many moms seem to spend all of their time worrying about someone else and none worrying about themselves. But I don't mean things like getting my hair cut or my nails done or even just taking "me" time - none of which I do that often these days!  I mean on a larger scale. The minute my daughter was born, I was overcome with concern for her. I kept saying over and over, "is she okay?" She was crying her lungs out, and the doctors assured me she was. I still made my husband leave my side and go literally count her fingers and toes to report back to me if she had them all, what her color was like, and if she looked okay to him. Over and over, regardless of repeated assurances, I asked, "is she okay?"  I paid no attention to hushed talk of pitocin, blood loss, a spiking fever, and a potential blood transfusion. Almost an hour went by before it occurred to me that it was taking them an awfully long time to stop my blood loss and get us on our way to a recovery room. And suddenly, my question changed: "Am I okay??"  All I could think was that I had to be okay because my daughter needed me. She needed me to feed her and hold her and take care of her. Here she was, minutes old, totally dependent - what would she do without me? That was the first moment I realized that gone were the days of taking my own health lightly. When someone else needs you the way your child needs you, ensuring that you stick around for them as long as you possibly can suddenly becomes paramount. I take my own health, and that of my husband, much more seriously than before.

I gave up being able to use the expression, "I couldn't go on." As a newlywed military spouse, I used to think only fleetingly about the dangers inherent in my husband's job. When he deployed, I trusted in his skills, his training, and his colleagues to bring him home again. Whenever the topic of "what if the worst?" came up, my first thought was always, "I couldn't go on without him; my world would crumble." My husband went to Afghanistan less than 2 months after our daughter was born, and I discovered that I can't say that anymore. Without doubt, I can still say things like, my heart would shatter. My world would be broken. I would be completely and utterly devastated. But I would have to go on. I would have to go on for her. And I would want to go on for her. When bad things happen - whatever they are - as a parent, I've given up the ability to just crumble and fall apart. For her, I have to go on in the face of fear, loss, or setback. For her, I have to prove that life always goes on.

I gave up ever being carefree. By this, I don't mean that I gave up the ability to let down my hair and have a good time. I still love a girls' night out, a date night, or a vacation. I can still relax, and I can still have fun. But I am never "carefree." There is no moment that passes that I don't think about my daughter and, if she is not with me, hope that she is happy and healthy in that moment. Everything I do is now filtered through the lens of being a parent. Driving has become not just getting from point A to point B, but a task that must be undertaken carefully and defensively every time, always mindful of that rear-facing passenger in the mirror. Those who drink-and-drive, text-and-drive, or just drive poorly are no longer just annoying; they present real and frightening threats to my child. Watching the news is at times not just difficult but heart wrenching. Kidnappings, missing children, and the deaths of children are almost unbearable to watch. Cases of racism, hatred, gun violence, and war are met with my usual heartbreak and outrage, but also now with the realization that this is the world in which I must raise my child and the world I must somehow explain to her. Whatever notion I had of being "carefree" before my daughter was born is certainly gone.

I could go on for much longer on this topic, but in the interest of keeping this "blog post length," I will leave it at this and with the final thought that when I think of all these things I didn't realize I would be giving up forever, I wouldn't have it any other way. Truly, all that I have given up pales in comparison to what I have gained.