It was a wise woman who once said, “motherhood changes you, and you’d be a fool to pretend it didn’t.” Ok, actually, it was just a woman at work, but it really hit me because I didn’t expect that fundamental difference to be acknowledged at work.
Becoming a mother, especially with the first child, can operate kind of like a black hole. Allow me to explain.
The path to motherhood and the experience is a little different for each woman. That is part of the magic that makes it such an intimate and personal experience. But there are also some things that every mother goes through on some basic level, and the differences have more to do with the impact than the existence of that experience. Without a doubt, the biggest whammy that most women never see coming (besides childbirth, of course) is the identity transformation that necessarily goes along with becoming a mother.
For some women, motherhood completes or complements their identity, and the transformation acts like the missing puzzle piece. Running head on into the answer to what you were meant to do and who you were meant to be is obviously intense, and complementary though it may be, even these women should be aware of the gravitational force of a baby.
For others, motherhood is a complete shock to the system. Though the person may certainly have had many loving and healthy relationships in her lifetime, this one requires a completely different orientation of self, of priority, and of love. Somewhere in that adjustment, these new moms are even more prone to being sucked in to the baby black hole with little realization of the transformation until it is too late.
Whatever a woman anticipates or encounters in motherhood, one thing is certain, there is an adjustment. And in my humble opinion, women are good at adjusting. It is where that adjustment crosses the line and becomes a complete reorientation of the self that the identity vacuum begins to take over. The bottom line is that most of us don’t see it coming until we are already knee deep in because the first couple of months with a newborn are about surviving, not contemplating life. Once the survival mode starts switching to a rhythm, that’s when mommy either has a rude awakening or she gets sucked completely in to the baby black hole.
I first recognized the baby black hole when, at 8 weeks post-partum, my husband took the baby from my arms and said, “I think you should take an hour and go do something for yourself.” Great idea, right!?! Only, I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to figure out what on earth I wanted to do. He gave me a completely open hall pass to go do whatever I wanted, and I couldn’t come up with even one thing? Finally, seeing my dilemma, my mother suggested a pedicure. Perfect! So I got in the car and as I drove away an overwhelming, involuntary sense of doom overtook me. I focused on the road and I stayed on mission. Pedicure.
As I sunk into the cushy massage chair at the nail salon I was immediately grateful that this pedicure would finally address the neglect my poor feet faced over the preceding months. I had intended to get a pedicure a couple of weeks before my due date, but Olivia came early so now nearly 3 months had passed since my last pedicure. The water was so warm and relaxing and after a nice little soak the woman grooming my feet starting working away. Five minutes in I grew antsy. When was the last time I just sat and did nothing for five minutes??? Ten minutes in I felt claustrophobic. I peeled through the pages of as many tabloid magazines as I could, not even stopping to consider for one moment whether Angelina or Britney were pregnant again. Who cared? Twenty minutes in and all I could think about was getting home and holding Olivia. I felt insane! You see, the conscious brain was loud and clear, “she is FINE! she is with your MOM and your HUSBAND! she is with her FATHER!” But the subconscious mind was winning out, and without being able to stop myself I was fully panicking. I abandoned my nail polish color and asked that they not paint my nails. Then, when the woman asked if I wanted to extend the massage, I practically screamed, “No!” By the end of the pedicure I was literally racing out the door to my car. I drove the half mile to my house – yes, one half mile – and I pulled into the driveway and rushed inside. Then, with every attempt to seem calm and collected, I swooped up Olivia from her daddy’s arms and held her close. The baby black hole. All at once it was sweet, lovely, and totally insane.
That night I sat imagining a future conversation with Olivia. “Mommy, today can we do something you like to do?”
“Sure! Let’s go to the zoo!”
“No, mommy, that’s what I like to do. What do you like to do?”
“Um, well, gosh …”
My world did change when she was born. Dramatically. And with that change a huge part of my identity changed. It is not just an additional component. Motherhood fundamentally altered my other life roles – as a daughter, a wife, a lawyer, a mentor, even as a neighbor. The priorities have shifted, the focus of each role has changed, and in many ways motherhood adds a sort of boost to some of my life roles. As a daughter, I have an overwhelming appreciation for everything my mother did for me. As a wife, I appreciate a new level of intimacy with my husband. As a lawyer and a mentor I find myself blessed with incredible focus and a profound understanding of the impact mentors can have. As a neighbor I am watching out for the safety of my neighbor’s children without even realizing it! How could anyone not begin to succumb to the identity shift? How could anyone resist the “calling” of motherhood in the face of such an intense transformation?
But no matter how devoted I am, no matter how utterly and completely sucked in I might become, I will never be everything and everyone to my daughter. She will need girl friends. She will want to fall in love. She will want her father’s opinion more than mine sometimes. On the one hand, of course, I want to savor every waking moment of my baby girl’s life. On the other hand, I know she is going to grow up one day, and I want to be the kind of role model that teaches her to go out and pursue her happiness. How can I do that without holding on to the person I am?
That was my turning point. It is not easy to resist the power of the identity suck – it is so natural and so fulfilling to watch your life unfold in a way that offers so much meaning surrounding a new little sun. Her every smile, breath, sigh, gaze, and movement is easily experienced as a symphony of small miracles not to be taken for granted. But I don’t want to wake up one day in my 50s and find that my own personal growth and fulfillment was stunted for twenty years. I am more afraid that I will wake up one day with my babies in college and the rest of my life empty than I am afraid I might miss an hour of her life to go get a pedicure. I am more afraid of my daughter judging me for losing my sense of self than I am of coming home to a teary eyed toddler who demands a satisfactory explanation for having left her with her grandparents for a whole weekend.
It isn’t easy to pry myself from the baby black hole. It is a conscious effort to maintain as much of myself as I can while I still embrace my new talents, like changing a poopy diaper with only two wet wipes in my arsenal and no changing pad. It starts with a coffee with my friends -- no babies invited. It means setting aside time to go to the gym by myself, even though I would rather be snuggling with Olivia or Marcus. It means going into the other room and reading a book about an adult subject -- a parenting skills book does not count! It means going on vacation with my husband and without the baby (I am still working up to this one).
Though I think I may reserve Saturday mornings for getting totally sucked into Olivia's world. That seems like a reasonable compromise.
-- Rachel
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