Motherhood has made me more resilient, less self-focused, more patient and, frankly, a little like a lioness protecting her cubs… so don’t mess with my kids!
I used to be a mild-mannered, non-yeller who embarrassed easily and apologised a lot.
But that was before I was toughened up by the experience of growing and expelling a human being. Is there anything more fortifying than bringing life into the world? Whatever was left of my modesty vanished; I was too busy mothering a squishy, red-faced baby into a spirited, defiant toddler to concern myself with much else.
Two more kids later, I’ve become a person who my old self would have shied away from. The version of me who would tut-tut at a tantrumming toddler in a supermarket, was before I bounced colicky babies for hours, and before I realized that three kids is way more than I have any business handling. Motherhood doesn’t care what you think you can handle.
The non-yelling me became a yeller when I gave birth without any pain medication, and my easily embarrassed self disappeared when I experienced the worst case of mastitis, like, ever. I was in so much pain I was unable to explain to my husband that I needed to go to the hospital. I just laid on the couch wishing I would black out so the pain would stop and he would forever be in my debt for not taking the situation seriously.
Motherhood doesn’t care about your modesty or self-respect.
I am tougher and less inclined to complain about small inconveniences. Because, let’s face it, motherhood does not care if you only had three hours of sleep. Motherhood does not care if you feel fat. Motherhood says, GET UP OFF YOUR BUTT, LADY. YOUR SON IS EATING SILICA PACKETS.
If I have to run outside in mismatched pyjamas to chase a naked toddler through the front yard or to make sure my oldest gets on the bus, so be it.
If I have to leave a full grocery cart in the store because my kids are making a scene, so be it.
If I have to tell a stranger to back away from my pram or please stop touching my baby, so be it.
I don’t have time to be embarrassed.
I don’t have time to apologise for my choices.
I don’t have time to get my feelings hurt if you don’t agree with me.
I don’t have time to poop alone, so I’m probably not going to be able to have an hour-long conversation with you this afternoon, remember to pay the bills, or figure out where that smell is coming from.
An onlooker might assume I’m medicated….nope.
I am shell-shocked and de-sensitised, with an ever-present goal of getting through the day.
Motherhood—shushing babies and wiping butts and weathering countless, psychotic tantrums—changed me. And I am grateful.
Motherhood forces me to carry on. It forces me to love when I don’t feel like it.
It forces me to keep going when I am exhausted.
Motherhood is a force to be reckoned with.
And now... I am a force to be reckoned with.
