Before I was even pregnant, I was quite snotty about formula. Even if I never actually voiced this opinion to my friends who had recently become mothers, I really looked down on anyone who would chose that gross and unnatural substance over breast milk. Seriously, have you read the studies on this? The status of “liquid gold” wasn’t assigned to formula for a reason. (Le Leche League’s website is a great place to start if you are looking for more information about the benefits of breastfeeding). I could not comprehend the decision to use formula; think of the cost! The nutrition! The damage you were doing to your baby, both nutritionally and psychologically!
At this point, I would like to launch forward four years. After actually being a mom and not just prancing to the top of my soap box of inexperience, I have officially been kicked off my high and mighty sassy horse. My “before kids” self really didn’t know what she was talking about. How could she? She wasn’t a mom. If you keep reading, you’ll see that even I eventually used formula and found that it is not toxic (“What?!? Sell-out!” my former self screams.) I now understand that every mom, every baby and every situation is different, but maintain the belief that breast milk is best, yo!
I love shoes. Pumps, strappy sandals, sky-high stilettos, funky boots, cute flats – I love them all, and pride myself on my vast shoe collection. Before I had kids, one of my favorite parts of the day was getting dressed in the morning. Standing in my closet, gazing up at the rows and rows of boxes, I had only one question: Which pair should I wear today? “Me! Me” the three inch, pointy toe, solid red with snakeskin accent heels would call, “Remember you have that meeting at work today! I’ll be fabulous!” I imagined the other shoes smiling regretfully at the pair that was selected, like a famous actress nominated for the Oscar and loses but still must appear debonair with all of the cameras pointed at her. Don’t worry, I would assure the others, you’ll have your day too.
Only one pair of shoes ever challenged my identity and took my fashion sense by the shoulders and shook it to death; the ugly “Earth” shoes I purchased during my first pregnancy to ease my aching back. I knew that my sense of style couldn’t possibly be maintained while wearing these shoes, but the comfort and support of my new Mary-Janes (black, of course, as I still have some ounce of pride) quickly trumped any other pair in my closet. “What have you traded us for? Simply awful!” the heels and boots protested.
After Lily was born, there was no vital necessity to wear any of my fabulous yet ridiculous heels. Why dress up when your entire day consists of nursing/rocking/changing an infant and there is no need to step foot outside the house? No longer having the time or energy in the morning to put a cute outfit together, I took the easy way out. I continued to pick those Mary-Janes long after the necessity of wearing them had passed. Like many changes and sacrifices I had made, not having time to spend on myself became an everyday occurrence. My pumps and sandals were an inconsequential part of the person I had been long ago; a person who, it seemed at times, would be lost in the world of motherhood forever.
Eventually, I learned how to gain more of a balance in my life, and felt as though I was getting to know myself again. I was, of course, the same person I’d always been, but with changes and tweaks and new experiences under my belt. Around Lily’s first birthday, I timidly reintroduced myself to my neglected heels. “We’re dusty! Where have you been?” they groaned. “I’m sorry. I had a baby, and you are no good for going on long walks with a jogging stroller or running errands,” I tried to explain.
I logically understand that your choice of footwear does not directly relate to the type of person you are, and that placing so much emphasis on what you wear seems silly and materialistic. But at the end of the day (or the beginning of the day, in my case), the single element of shoes makes me feel like myself; not necessarily who I was before I had kids or this new person I’ve become, but me. A woman who relishes in slipping into a pair of hot pink suede platform pumps, turquoise snakeskin boots or brown peep toes with gold piping, but also a mom who is utterly and completely obsessed with her daughters. Motherhood has been fully integrated into my identity, which will always include fabulous shoes.
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I first watched this video before I was even pregnant, and found its hilarity and ridiculousness completely entertaining. While the video is about shoes, it really has nothing to do with motherhood, but when I was writing this entry, the catch-phrase popped into my mind and I knew that it had to be my title. Found it most appropriate to attach the link!
Motherhood has reformed me. I used to be your typical Type A, controlling, neurotic nightmare. I’ve never actually said “my way or the highway” to anyone, but that phrase pretty much sums it up. What makes matters worse, of course, is that my well thought out plans usually come to fruition, therefore reinforcing this exact behavior and way of thinking. My first pregnancy was planned, like everything else in my life. Actually, the planning really started much earlier than you would ever guess – you’ll find the names of my future children on the pages of my first journal, started when I was seven or eight years old. My daughters really should thank me that they didn’t end up as “Flower Petal” or “Spice.”
Blessed with the fertile myrtle gene, project baby was launched shortly after we returned from our honeymoon, right on schedule. Like everything else I take on, I became completely and utterly obsessed with my new project. Spreadsheets were created to compare the different options for strollers and cribs; lists outlined how many 0-3 month versus 3-6 month onsies to stock. I read books, watched birth videos, practiced breathing techniques, attended pre-natal yoga classes, talked with other pregnant women. Determined to be “supermom,” I gathered every ounce and scrap of information I could in those short nine months.
What those books and videos never tell you, however, is that nothing – I repeat, nothing – can prepare you for parenthood. And what people especially don’t tell you is that, for a control freak like myself, becoming a mother is like pulling the rug out from under every aspect of your life in one swift motion.
Motherhood overwhelmed me. Daily hysterical crying fits, erratic thoughts and distracted conversations defined me after my daughter was born. My identity was shattered – is this what it meant to be a mom? Should I feel guilty for not doing the dishes and folding the laundry if I am at home and my husband is at work? How could I feel so incredibly lucky and horrifically tired at the same time? I would look down at the sleeping baby in my arms and weep out of joy for being so blessed. And in the lonely hours of endless night/morning, I would weep out of misery from the hell of my own making. Because, after all, I had planned this.
Time passed, night by sleepless night, and I slowly started to feel the haze lift; and with it, some of my weird idiosyncrasies. Suddenly, it didn’t matter if I was 5 minutes late for something; if I left the house in a mismatched outfit; if my husband put the kitchen towels in the bathroom cabinet and vice versa. Believe it when I say that this was a big step from the “old me.”
In thinking of all the ways motherhood could change me, I never would have guessed that this process would have made me a better person. Motherhood has given my life purpose, shown me the true meaning of unconditional love and added much needed perspective. Becoming a more grounded, patient, understanding and less controlling individual are really just bonuses.
Sleep Deprived & Fabulous 