Not too long ago a friend of mine was pregnant. Like me, her pregnancy was unplanned, and although she was still with the father of her child, she couldn’t always find joy in her situation. She was worried about not being a good mother because she hadn’t necessarily planned on having this little one, and wasn’t too excited about it. She was uncomfortable all the time and just had a basically crappy pregnancy. Thankfully she had me, because I went through the same issues, even without father of my son.
It made me realize that maybe my basic unhappiness at being pregnant (OVER SEVEN YEARS AGO) wasn’t so abnormal. Maybe I wasn’t just unhappy about the situation with my ex-boyfriend, but also at my situation of being pregnant when I wasn’t planning on becoming a mother yet. She and I both felt like we should have been overjoyed, so excited and happy that we were pregnant and carrying a life inside us. We knew other women who had or still were struggling just to get pregnant, no matter how badly they wanted it (my love to them all). Why should we be so sad about something these other women wanted so badly, but struggled to obtain?
Because we weren’t them. This wasn’t what we wanted or when we wanted it. Our situations were less than ideal and neither of us felt that we really wanted to be moms – maybe ever. But here we were. We both made the decision to keep our babies. We were both out of college by the time we got pregnant, and we were both physically capable of carrying the babies and then raising them.
Once we had our babies, both of us felt an overwhelming love for our little boys. But that STILL didn’t mean we were happy or even liked the little buggers at first. I had to reassure her many times that I hated being a mom for a long time. But eventually, as my little man grew into his own little personality, was able to talk and do things on his own, I became more and more happy about it and couldn’t imagine my life without him.
We weren’t all cut out to be perfect moms who love every minute of the job. I am not one of them, that’s for sure. That doesn’t in any way mean that I love my son any less than other moms love their children. He is my life and brings so much joy to my heart every day. But I don’t love the job of “mom” all the time.
And with our current society of “perfect lives” on social media, I sometimes feel horrible about not loving it. Because everyone says I’m supposed to love it. At all times. No matter what.
But I hated dirty diapers. I hated waking up every hour to breast- (and then bottle-) feed my very fat and hungry baby. I hated having a crying baby who couldn’t tell me what he needed. I hated not being able to have conversations with this other human being. I hate telling him “no.” I hate when he wakes me up at 6am on weekends. And I really hate that a now 7-year-old child dictates my life as an adult.
But I love him more than anything in the world. I love his hugs. I love having conversations with the most inquisitive 7-year-old I’ve ever met. I love watching him play soccer and going to soccer games with him. I love going to the movies with him. I loved taking him to his very first concert (Twenty-One Pilots, cuz I taught him right). I love his perspective of the world. I love reading with him. I love when he reads to me. I love his giggles. I love his huge, stinky feet (except when they touch me – ew). I love playing videogames with him. I love playing board games with him. I love creating videos with him. I love how excited he gets about the things he loves. I love the joy he has brought to my family.
My list could go on. Probably indefinitely.
My point being – I don’t always love the job of being a mom. Society might tell me that’s not okay, but I don’t care. The most important thing is that I LOVE being HIS mom. And all of the things I love about it definitely outweigh the things I hate. On my son’s 7th birthday, I can happily say, I wouldn’t change it – none of the hard times, none of the stuff I hate – for anything.