A few weeks ago, I got a chance to get out and pretend I wasn’t a mom for a few hours. No kids, no husband, just me. I was literally up on a stage dancing my heart out - I can honestly say I haven’t done that since having babies. The evidence was live on my Instagram stories for 24 hours. It really got me thinking of my carefree days and how I miss them.
I miss being spontaneous and being able to sleep in until noon. Having a disposable income (DINK life 🙌🏽) and the ability to travel on a whim. I miss buying $800 shoes and being skinnier. I miss. I miss. I miss.
Now my alarm clock is a wiggly 4 year old who whispers, “are you awake, mommy?” in my face before the sun comes up, I have to plan a trip to the grocery store, and some days I struggle with my own reflection in the mirror.
I think it’s okay for parents to mourn who we were prior to children. I actually think it’s normal to have a small grieving period as we adjust to parenthood. We go from being these independent people to someone whose whole world revolves around a person who shits themselves. Quantity and quality of poopy diapers become acceptable dinner conversation. If you’re the breast or chest feeding parent, there’s even more pressure on you to be close to your tiny human, as you are their sole source of nourishment.
We talk a lot about the physical transition to motherhood - the soft postpartum belly, the swollen and often leaking breast, the pad that’s more like a diaper. Over time it all fades like a linea nigra, and we adjust to our new role, no matter how slowly. We talk about the birth of a mother, but not about the death of who we were. The grieving of our life before this season. It’s easy to lose sight of your perfect tiny human, and sink into a spiral of self pity and despair. The hormones certainly don’t help!
We are ever growing and ever changing. However, it’s important to remember that we got to this point thanks to the person we used to be. Look upon her fondly. Remember when your biggest problem over the weekend was to figure out which party to attend. Honor. Remember what “tired” felt like - and then cry-laugh at how you would do anything to feel that “tired” again. Remember that despite your changes, you’re still her. A sleep deprived, hormonal, older version of her. I’m still that girl that would dance at the club, but instead of dancing until 4am, I’m home by midnight. I can still buy shoes like a motherfucker — they’re just not as expensive as they once were.