I remember the day I first held you in my arms. You became, and I also became. I’d thought about motherhood for a long time, about how I’d be and how you’d be. But I was still so unprepared. Heaven and Earth kissed for a moment and I’d never felt so sure and so uncertain all at the same time.

I knew you and I – we’d be okay, but I also knew I had to grow up in just a moment to be your mom.

You believed in me, I could tell.

I expected  that I would know how to do this – that I would know how to love you and raise you well at each stage of your life. But I haven’t known. When you were a few days old I called the doctor at 1AM sobbing because I couldn’t feed you. You were screaming and I was crying. We were a mess. Now I’m helping you navigate the school age years and process the grief of your best friend moving. I should know how to do this well son, but sometimes I don’t.

I expect too much from you too, son. I try not to, but I do.

It’s not you, it’s me.

Sometimes my own insecurities and unrealistic expectations of me overflow on to you, and I’m so very sorry. Please know, when you wonder if you’re doing it wrong, if you’re not getting it all right…you are doing just fine. I’m a firstborn too, son, and I dreamed in my school age years of having you someday and finding a way to raise you to never know perfectionism. To never have the task master of fear and idealism whispering in your ear, “don’t mess it up”. But I haven’t done that. I see it in your eyes when you worry about tests at school or when I come down on you to harshly for small things.

I’m so sorry, son. It’s not you , it’s me.

The thing is, son, you are perfect. Because perfect isn’t what we think it is; it isn’t a standard we have to achieve or an impossible expectation to reach – it’s the gold that is already inside you. It’s who you are outside of all your mistakes and all your successes.
I am so very very proud of you.

Even if you weren’t “nice”, son, even if you forgot to think of others and to be the one to have a “good attitude” – I am on your team, every.single.time. I am rooting for you and we will figure it out together.

You could be terrible at school and never pass another AR exam or timed math test and I’d never ever look at you differently or be less proud.

You could be uncomfortable with organized sports and take off running when they ask you to do a drill just like you did in kindergarten. I get it, I felt like that too. If you sense that you’re disappointing me, you’re not.

You could get married, or never get married, you can go to college or not. You could pursue a fancy career or nothing at all. You could be very successful or make tons of mistakes, and I’m not going anywhere. There is no mistake or decision that would make me go anywhere, not one.  I couldn’t be prouder or love you more.

When you sense something from me that makes these things feel untrue, please know, it’s not because you’re failing, it’s because I’m scared. I’m scared I’m not doing it right or that I won’t be able to give you what you need. I’m scared I’m not cut out for this and maybe other moms get it more than I do. I think about how I let you watch TV and I don’t cook every dinner from scratch and I wonder if I’m not loving you as well as I could. I think about how I’m still so very selfish and sometimes I’m so consumed with me, that I miss it with you. I think about how I put expectations on you that I swore I would never do. And I’m scared and I’m not sure I have what it takes.

Other times I’m being frivolous and dramatic. It’s because my pants are too tight and the house is too messy and I feel like I’ve failed miserably. Sometimes it’s because I’m trying to not eat sugar or drink coffee and all I can think about is sugar and coffee. It’s silly, it’s humbling, but it’s true.

It’s not you son, it’s me.

You’re nine now and sometimes I wonder if my time is running out to make mistakes. If you’ll turn me away one of these days when I expect too much.  But you keep forgiving me, believing in me, and trusting in me–just like you did when you were an infant and I couldn’t figure out how to nurse.

Thank you for loving the most imperfect me, I am so very much better because of you, and I’m learning…

I’m learning to accept me as much as I accept you.

I love you son, more than words can say. Thank you for growing up with me.

Love,

Your Mama forever

***

Hey Mamas and Dads, What do you want your firstborn to know most?

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Don’t judge another’s vagina by one’s own vagina. Words to live by, I think.

Or, don’t judge until you’ve walked a mile in their…never mind.

Because seriously, all labors ARE. NOT. created equal.

As my friends have begun to join me on my quest for pushing entire humans out of small passageways, I feel a little protective of their feelings and their bodies (which aren’t actually up for public discussion, just so ya know). There is an overwhelming sense that there is a “Higher Way”. Um. Excuse me while I stand on my soapbox for a sec. THEY GREW A BABY AND THEN THE BABY HAD TO COME OUT OF THEIR BODY.

We should be giving a lot more high-fives and a lot less opinions.

Exhibit A: Weight gain. Just. Don’t speak. Stop it. Some people gain exactly the perfect amount of weight (so said by the pregnant book gods) on purpose and are successful. Those people are the hormone-conquering-elite, and are awe inspiring, but also not to be compared to. Kind of like a unicorn or an Olympic athlete. Um-kay? The second group of people gain the perfect amount of weight (or less), and there ain’t nothin’ they can do about it. May it be genetics, morning sickness or both, this is NOT to be judged, and also should not be a platform on which to instruct the “other” women. Because girl, you don’t even know. The third group. Well. Let’s just say I know what it’s like to visit the doctor and feel like the heavy weight champion of pregnant people, and my friend, you’re all good. You are growing a PERSON. To all the varieties of weight gain…I salute you. Awesome baby growing.

Exhibit B: Epidural/Natural/Caesarean: This is where I come again to my first point. Don’t judge another’s vagina, uterus, pelvic, cervix, hips, baby size, head size…by your own. You have absolutely NO idea what labor will look for another person. Your story can-not-and-will-not-be-their-story. Labors are NOT the same. That is insane. Case in point: Even my four labors (using the same body) deserve their own “titles”. Something like: “Blissfully Naive”, “Giant Head”, “Chainsaw Through My Body”, and “Sweet Potato Fries”. (Good thing Graham was there or I’d-a kicked it Old-Testament style with the child-naming, “One Who Angered Me” or “One Who Caused Me To Scream Swear Words”…and such). Stories for another time.

And the Caesarean. Listen, I get that they may be “over-used”. But also, I hear they help moms and babies avoid being dead. That’s pretty cool. To that I say…bring on the knife! And P.S., the women I know who have had Caesareans are complete BAD-ASSES. How about 60 hours of labor AND THEN a c-section…or my one friend (you know who you are) whose anesthesia DIDN’T WORK. Let’s all take a moment of silence to think about that.

So, how about, we all give the reins back to the person they actually belong to (the MOM) and make her feel AWESOME, no matter what her birth story may be. Because…wait for it…

There is NO “GREATER” STORY.

Period.

Done.

(insert crying here).

I’m so sorry that was stolen from you, my friend. Your story is beautiful. It is yours. It is your son’s or daughter’s. It is your partner’s. Don’t let anyone take that from you.

Uh-hem. Re-focusing…

Exhibit C: Home/Hospital/Birth-Center. One of my favorite things ever is when Jim Gaffigan (the comedian) talks about how his wife has home births and people say to him, “We were going to do that, but we wanted our baby to live.” Aaaaaa. I die. So funny. Listen, if a person is going to have to push out a human, I’d say that they have a right to do that wherever they feel the most comfortable and safe. When I go to the hospital, I’m like “when did you say I have to check out of this hotel, and also could you bring me another cheeseburger and a milk shake?” But my friend Erika is like…I’d rather not go to a disease-infested asylum, that smells like a convalescent home…to have a baby. Understood. If you’re not the one contracting I’d say…put a lid on it.

I haven’t even mentioned the women who decided not to have kids. How about, that is also, nobody’s business.  (#RESPECT). Or can’t have biological kids. Or the Mama-warriors that battle Postpartum Depression (So sorry my friend, I have nothing but honor for you). Or a parent’s age? Or Surrogates (You are INCREDIBLE), and the families that use them (LOVE) or Adoption (show me anything that involves adoption and I will cry, I promise.) Speaking of which…have you seen the Chloe, a Story of Infertility, Adoption and God’s Love? (If you enjoy the kind of happy crying that involves lots of snot, Watch it. Watch it now.)

Ladies. Let’s link arms, give each other a wink, and say “I value you, and therefore I validate your story.” I don’t know about you, but I already hear a collective sigh of relief. Particularly my own.

If you remember nothing else, remember this.

Don’t judge another’s _____________(what?)

Okay good job.

Rant over.

**Special THANKS to Captured by Cortney Birth Photography for these INCREDIBLE photos. You absolutely have to go check out the rest of her work, and if you’re from Whitefish or Kalispell, MT, book her to help you tell your birth story.

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If you’re like me, you know what it’s like to be both the judger and the judged. If you’re a parent you also know what it’s like to think you “know” everything, and then find out the hard way…you don’t.

1. You used to think, ‘my children will not act like THAT in public’. Then one day you’re in Target and your precious two year old is screaming like she’s being mauled by a Velociraptor. Other customers are clearly looking for blood and have 9-1-1 on speed dial. But you know, this entire horrific event is because she wants to stand, not sit, in the upper part of the cart (while) you push it because shopping should be more like the X-Games. Meanwhile, your four year old seems to not walk like a normal human, but rather teleport to different isles. You are still chiding yourself on why you haven’t purchased her an entire wardrobe of neon. You find yourself in what’s known as the “parental walk of shame”…all in the name of tampons and bobby pins. 

2.You used to think because they will be smaller than you, they will be easy to control. You were wrong.

3. You used to think, why does that mom not seem to remember anything? And then you walk out of TJ Maxx with unpurchased sunglasses on your head, with the giant censor tag hanging over your bangs. You set off the alarm twice and are finally ushered out the door because apparently your sweet-mom-face distracts from petty theft. It is then that you realize what that “nagging thing” in the back of your mind was. You blame the pregnant brain even though, clearly you are no longer pregnant.

4. You used to think you would guide your children with a soft voice of parental wisdom. Then you discover that these people are not reasonable. These are the most unreasonable humans you have ever met.

5. You used to think that you would feed them all organic and never sugar ever, and then they eat their own poop.

6. You used to think that “it is possible” to raise a child in a way that they wouldn’t need counseling. Now “counseling” is a neon sign that pops up in your subconscience every time you make a mistake. Damn counseling.

7. As you watched those god-awful tantrums you’d think, ‘what that child needs is to not be spoiled’. Now you find yourself in that exact situation and you would really like to climb on top of the organic canned corn and shout, “This screaming child you see before you? THIS IS my child not being spoiled. So when you step in to parenthood you better put your grown up pants on, because parenting isn’t for wussys.” Mic drop.

8. You used to think, why is that child so dirty? Why do they have fuzz and a sucker stick permanently attached to their face? Do these children get bathed? Now you know, sometimes you have to take a brief pause from the never ending project called “Wiping”. You have a few things to do.

9. You used to think you understood cleaning as a single person, and how it is so difficult to keep up. Now you would like to take a tall margarita and go lounge in that life.

But the grand finale, number one thing you have learned is this:

10. You used to think, “Birth control”, “Better you than me”, “This is why I don’t have kids”. But you had NO IDEA how much your feelers feel because of these precious beings. How much JOY they would add to your life. How your heart would swell so much you’d feel like it was going to burst. And how you would never ever in a million years trade them for anything. And how, yes, it’s so uncontrolled and messy and hard,  but nobody, not anybody could have prepared you for how WORTH IT it would be, and how much better of a human you would become because of it.

What number do you relate to the most? Or, have your own? Do tell!

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Photo Credit: Sonesta Smith @ Sands of Time Design (Definitely check out the rest of her work!)

For more reading  like this check out Don’t Judge My Uterus.