Loss and Motherhood

Years back I told my husband that I hoped pregnancy would come as a surprise to us–oh sweet, naïve me.

But at 4:00 A.M. that Saturday morning when I followed my gut (literally) and verified that something, or rather someone, other than last night's pizza was in my tummy, I didn't feel like destiny had kissed our lives. 

I felt a sense of loss.


photo credit: kanira.supono via photopin cc

Just a week before I saw those double pink lines on a home pregnancy test, I finally came to a definitive decision that I didn't want to have children. Cue the irony.

In an instant, my priorities changed. I was forced to think beyond what was best for me and tune into what was best for this stranger growing inside me.

For 9 months, I worried about the changes this little one would bring. And I wasn't wrong. Change did come in big ways. My daughter didn't take a bottle, so going back to work, to a job I really liked, was out of the question. And even if she had been a champ with a bottle, I knew being away from my high needs baby would be a terrible decision for this low energy mama.

Baby was a nurse-o-holic from the very beginning, slowly graduating from nursing every 30-45 minutes to oh, an hour an a half by 3 months old. Mama was on call all hours of the day and night which meant me-time was non-existent.

What I feared most was what would change between my husband and me. After being spoiled with 5 years of blissful marriage, I worried what adding a third person would do to our rhythm.

For those first few months, we hardly spent one moment in peace or romance together. We felt miles apart without any tools to lead us back to each other. One of us always had our daughter with the other fleeing to gain their sanity back. And for the first time ever, I worried that we'd never get what we had back.

See, we obviously have chemistry...even in pointless selfies.

And to be honest, we haven't gotten it all back. But what I couldn't conceptualize was what I would gain when my daughter joined us at 9:56 A.M. that snowy morning. 

I gained a new soul mate.

She is a mix of me and him and a dash of everyone else. She's unique and delightful and curious and emotional and adorable.

I voluntarily love my husband. I choose him every day, but my love for my daughter is completely involuntary. This kind of love is nothing I've ever experienced before–more profound than I could ever hope to put into words.

Things weren't always rainbows and lollipops. My soul mate wailed for the first 4 months and nearly drove us to madness, but even in the hardest moments, I missed her. We were once one and though my body seemed to want to violently puke her up several times a day, we were as close as any two people could ever be.

Since that confusing morning when I learned of this stranger in my belly, I have grieved many losses. I'll never again be just me. And my husband and I will never be just us. We're our daughter's mama and papa. That's an identity we'll never shake, nor want to.

And every day it's like I'm teaching her how to gradually leave my nest. I can't bare to think of how profoundly I'll feel that loss when the day comes for her to fly away.