Written by Melissa Warburg
Time. It dictates our days. We need more time to get things done. Some days we want it to slow down, or speed up. As children, we can’t wait to grow up so we can do all the “fun stuff.” As adults, we may not want to deal with the reality that time is going by and that we are getting older. There is no better way to fully understand those various phases of time than when you become a parent.
As a kid – young and naive – I didn’t fully recognize the seriousness of the journey and responsibility parents undertake. It had always seemed like the “thing” the adults around me did with such simplicity – marriage and kids. I believed my future held both of those and eagerly looked forward to it all. I wanted time to speed up.
When my husband and I were married for about a year, my friend’s sister had a baby. Seeing her infant son’s pictures on Facebook immediately stirred something in my soul, my desire to become a mother. It felt like a maternal switch had been flipped inside of me. I was ready to have a baby.
My husband was the voice of reason, the calm and collected ying to my anxiety-ridden, eager and impatient yang. He understood life would change and thought maybe we should enjoy being married a while longer before becoming parents. I was not thinking about that at all. I just wanted to snuggle a baby with my husband’s blue-gray eyes and my sweet smile. Everything else was an afterthought, and (in my defense) I always believed that everything would fall easily into place.
I took a pregnancy test very early one morning after a short time of trying to conceive. I was shocked and delighted when the stick showed the infamous plus sign. I woke up my husband, who guessed right away from my excitement that I was pregnant. Then he promptly fell back to sleep, which I still tease him about. I lie awake, my brain fluttering with all the things to come. I couldn’t wait to start all the planning for this baby. I couldn’t wait to share the news that I was pregnant. I couldn’t wait, wait, wait!! And then there was all the fear – fear of pregnancy changing my body, fear of labor, fear of feeling ill, fear of having a baby that wasn’t “perfect.” And though I knew in my bones that my maternal instinct was very strong, I still feared the biggest thing of all – not being a good parent.
Our son arrived on his due date, after two days of labor. There was a rush to deliver him in order to clear his mouth from poop (yes, he pooped before coming out) so I didn’t get to hold him immediately. When he was put in my arms I fell instantly in love. It was the cliched “most magical moment of my life.” He was a little love bug from the start. I couldn’t get enough of him. My mama bear instincts were on high alert and my heart now lived outside my body. I just wanted to become one with this perfect being that my husband and I lovingly created.
Then we came home from the hospital…and I was scared. So scared. And exhausted. SO exhausted. I was overwhelmed and full of self-doubt. We took advantage of generous family help when necessary. We had already decided that I would quit my job and stay home with our child, and luckily my husband was able to take some time off from work to be with us in the beginning. He had a plan in the early days that I would take day shifts, and he would stay up at night to do feedings and just watch him breathe. We were new at this. We were nervous. Those first weeks are a blur as they are for most new parents. But I remember thinking that it was just a phase, and that in time life as we once knew it would be right around the corner. Wow…how very wrong.
My son was my little love. He was so attached to me and I to him. He was my buddy. My daily partner in crime. A lot of our time together during that first year was spent in our home. I was a nervous, slightly irrational and overprotective new mom. I didn’t want to drive too far with him. What if he was upset or needed something specific while we were out and I couldn’t give him what he needed? I felt comfortable at home, where all his things were. I could see his brain working constantly, trying to put the pieces together of his new surroundings. I sang and read to him all the time, both of which he loved. I talked to him constantly and recited flashcards. He was fascinated with it all, and absorbed everything. A great baby that was impossible not to love. The joy that I felt from his very existence was what I had imagined motherhood would be like.
I didn’t anticipate, however, that I would mourn my old life or feel the loneliness and constant self-criticism of becoming a mom. I was happy, I was sad. I was jealous of women who still had their careers and the luxury of time – the time to do anything they wanted, whenever they wanted. Pedicures, shopping excursions, dinner with friends, late-night drinks. My entire schedule was now controlled by this little being. And although I was never the party animal prior to his arrival, or a fast-paced career woman, I found myself feeling antsy and mournful about my pre-baby days. I was also doubtful of my ability to succeed in this new role. How could I care for this child when I still felt so young myself? There is still so much I didn’t know about life. Who am I to teach him about anything?
Time marches on though and routines solidify. We made it through the first three years of our son’s life and we didn’t fail miserably at being parents. Congrats to us! We watched him grow and become the funniest, sweetest, cutest, and most intelligent human being. Everyone adored his social and sweet personality. He also had some quirks that we needed time to keep an eye on, and his pediatrician was an angel in guiding us. Stress, happiness, fear, anxiety, worry. Love.
When our son was almost 3, I heard the metaphorical clock ticking and started to think about adding to our family. My husband expressed his logical doubts. “What if having another child interferes with our ability to give our son everything he needs and deserves? We know what we have now, why mess with it?” I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to think of being an only child family and, although I also had my doubts, I couldn’t bear not providing a sibling for our child. Eventually, we decided. A sibling. An addition to the family.
I discovered I was pregnant again. I was older now, and special tests were necessary to ensure the health of myself and the fetus. My pregnancy was horrible from the start with illness and issues. I felt guilty that I was sick so much and not able to take care of my son as I had been. I felt like we had made a mistake. We found out that we were having another boy. I was convinced (for no specific or logical reason) that we were having a girl. I didn’t have another boy’s name that I liked as much as our son’s and this superstitiously added to my doubt. Our son had noise sensitivity and was afraid of a new baby coming home and crying all the time. I tried to reassure him that he would only cry when he needed something. I explained that a baby’s way of communicating was to cry. Little did we know that I underestimated how much crying was in our future.
Our new bundle arrived two weeks early, very early on a June morning around sunrise. I was able to hold him right out of the womb and although I still think of that moment as miraculous, peaceful and blissful, underneath was a nagging feeling of being an unprepared mom of two children. I was beyond exhausted, ill after labor and felt completely miserable. Postpartum depression hit me like a ton of bricks. I felt like I was coming out of my skin and was incredibly irritable. Our new son was an unhappy baby because of a severe milk allergy and acid reflux. He cried constantly and rarely slept. It was heartbreaking. He required a special formula and many consultations with a pediatric gastroenterologist. It was a very dark time. I felt alone, sad, old, unhealthy, tired, under pressure to be everything to everyone and unable to bond with my new agitated baby, or properly take care of our older child. The guilt was severely overwhelming.
What can make parenting more difficult? It’s when you are going through the worst of times, and people around you keep saying “enjoy every moment because time goes by so fast.” Of course we want to enjoy – thanks for the tip! But when you are physically spent, and struggling emotionally, it is hard to remember that. More guilt.
But thank goodness for time. It does heal, or at least help. Our youngest son was a trying baby, and a feisty toddler, and continues to be a stubborn little boy, at times. But he is a caring, smart, handsome, and hilarious child who is easy to adore. When I look back at our family before his arrival, I can’t imagine him not being here. He completed us. He adds the character, “the cherry on the sundae” to our family that we needed, even though we didn’t realize it. Our youngest absolutely loves his big brother and the feeling is (mostly) mutual. They are close and I am so grateful they have one another.
We decided a year after our youngest was born that we would not have any more children. My husband had a vasectomy. In the past, I had envisioned having more children, maybe trying for a daughter, but that wasn’t in the plan. We were worn down. But in the back of my head I always thought “well, who knows… maybe someday we will have another…it could maybe….happen?”
Turning 40 was a transition for me, as it is for a lot of women. My hormone shifts and cycles became even more intense and debilitating to everyday life. I started developing crippling vestibular migraines, heavily impacted from the hormone fluctuations. Birth control wasn’t an option. I also noticed the wear and tear that pregnancy and childbirth had taken on my body. It affected my gastrointestinal and bladder functions. I had consistent hip and lower back pain that I couldn’t rectify. In January, I noticed something wasn’t right. I felt a sensation of “falling” from my vagina. A doctor’s visit confirmed that I was prolapsing. Surgery to fix my pelvic floor would be necessary, and a partial hysterectomy was strongly recommended. In that moment, I saw the entirety of my motherhood journey up to that point play through my mind – finding out I was pregnant, holding my children for the first time, their fantastic new baby smell, diapers, baths, late nights of crying, their first laughs, their first steps, first words, singing, books, first day of school. The wonderful feeling of holding them on your shoulder – their little heads fitting perfectly into the crook of your neck. The moments you wanted to scream and cry with frustration because they are not sleeping – again. The moment they put their tiny hand in yours, letting you know how much they love and need you. The bad and the good, mixing together. Pure magic – all of it.
I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness for days after that doctor’s appointment. To make the independent decision that the childbearing phase of your life is over is one thing, but to know that the decision is going to be made for you with the removal of your uterus is completely another. My heart was broken, though I didn’t quite understand why. The realistic likelihood of us having more children was slim to none, and there was of course the important fact that I had been able to already have children. I went through the stage in my life of babies and new motherhood. It hadn’t been taken away from me prematurely. And although I was incredibly grateful, I immediately focused on that sentence that was uttered to me many, many times while my boys were babies and toddlers from older parents – “enjoy every moment because time goes by so fast.” Why didn’t I listen? Why didn’t I slow down and just enjoy it when I was in the midst of it all – the magic of witnessing these two sweet souls grow and learn.
If I had to guess, I don’t think many people heed that advice. We are on automatic, and tired from our day to day life – work, school, soccer practice, little league, grocery store, birthday parties, play dates, laundry. Repeat and repeat. And then one day we wake up and our babies are no longer babies. They are maturing men (or women) with ideas and distinct personalities. They like new music that you have never even heard of, or they suddenly have strong opinions on their clothing options. Time – there it is again, hurting as much as helping.
My surgery is over now. I am healing but feel the void where my “baby growing balloon” (as I explained it to my son) once took up residence in my body. I still feel sad, and am mourning again – now for the time in my life that was devoted to babies. A time that is over, never to be had again. So my hope going forward is to keep reminding myself to focus on these next several years with my kids until they are officially men and move on to their own lives. I aim to enjoy every second with them, even if it is difficult because I am having a bad day, or to-do lists to complete or our youngest is being sassy. I want to enjoy and celebrate all the impromptu conversations and laughs, questions and ideas they come up with, and guide them the best way I can. I want to choose calmness and kindness as my first response to them. I will delight in their mere presence, and be the one who smiles the biggest when they walk into the room. Because time doesn’t mess around, and it won’t stop and wait for us to realize that the moments we are currently in are the most precious ones.