Ten Years

Ten years ago at this very moment, I was two months past my twenty-fifth birthday and experiencing the first dull, regular aches that would grow into full blown contractions by the 18th.

I had no idea what I was doing, I had no idea what I signed up for. None of my close girlfriends had babies, none of my husband's friends had babies. We were the blind leading the blind, diving head first into the abyss.

From others, I learned it is best to birth your baby naturally and unmedicated, but also it is best to take whatever drugs you feel you need, and finally, it is best to have a cesarian section. Breast is best but also fed is best. Making your own baby food is the best thing to do, unless of course you do baby led weaning, which is also best.

Strollers are also the best, except baby wearing is best. Being a stay at home mom is ideal, but so is going back to work. You should always go to your baby when they cry so they learn you will always be there, but you should also let your baby learn to self soothe. Absolutely do not let your baby cry themselves to sleep, but also don't let them get used to being held. Definitely do not co sleep, but also don't put them in their own room alone.

Books and articles and mommy groups on facebook, and all of a sudden my contractions were two minutes apart and my water was all over the living room floor and the only person's instructions I cared about were my baby's. Her movements and her demands and her head pressing on my tailbone. An exercise ball felt like hell, unlike what the books told me, but my hands and knees were a saviour. I didn't want drugs, but then she pooped in utero and panicked, and the game plan changed. Then came the Pitocin and then came the epidural and then came her, and the room was full of love and tears and exhaustion and happiness and none of the facebook moms who said drugs were the devil and the hospital was dirty and cesareans were the way to go, could ever take that from us.

And then she came home, and in the middle of the night there was no time to read a book written by an expert. Our newborn could not be negotiated with. But along the way, we got to know each other. We developed an understanding. She communicated with us in her own way, and we learned her language. That couldn't be taught by anyone outside of our little clan. Nobody else knew her like we did, nobody else's "tips or tricks" mattered.

And all of a sudden it's ten years later, and sleepless nights and dirty diapers and baths immediately after every meal are behind us. The fog has lifted and nobody breastfeeds anymore, everybody uses the toilet, everyone sleeps in their own bed, nobody needs to be rocked to sleep, and everyone eats all their supper.

Most of the time.

These are the days I thought would never come.

The never-ending nights we thought we'd never survive are gone. The everlasting car rides with a screaming infant in a rear facing car seat. The meltdowns in grocery stores, restaurants, change rooms. The fumbling with nursing bras, up the back baby poops, sleepers with snaps, all a lifetime ago.

The days that felt like an eternity, gone in a blink. And now she's almost as tall as me. She's funny and smart and compassionate and wild. She hates to brush her hair, loves to dance, hates math, but she's good at it. We go for ice cream and cook together and watch movies. And even though my heart aches sometimes for a warm little body propped up with her head on my shoulder, watching her spread her wings eases that pain.

For so long, we were in the trenches of parenthood, barely surviving, and then quietly and without notice, the fog lifted.

The curse of parenthood is that even when you try, you don't really appreciate how sweet it is while it's actually happening, but the blessing is that you get to raise each other. You both get to grow and change for the better.

Ten years ago, I started writing about parenthood because I felt like nobody was telling the truth about it. It's dirty and gritty and exhausting, but it's beautiful and amazing and triumphant too. It taught me the truth about patience, exhaustion, rage, but mostly it taught me the truth about unconditional love.

Honestly, it's still teaching me all of those things, but with more sleep.

It taught me that I would, without question or hesitation, lay down my life for another human being, but also that sometimes I just need that human being to stop talking or touching me.

I would sell my soul if it meant they would be safe, but also I don't want to watch their interpretive dance to the song they made up in the safe environment I would die for.

I want to give them every opportunity in the world, but... just... for the love of God, pick up your socks.

Ten years feels like forever, but it's not. I have to remind myself that we're still here. We're still in it, that sweetness of childhood. There's still time to savour, more things to teach each other, more things to learn.

There are so many uncertainties about parenthood. Nothing is concrete, no one-size-fits-all manual on parenting. Every child is different, every parent is different, every situation is different. A decade in, I only know two things for sure:

1. You are the only expert on raising your own child.

2. The survival rate for parenting is 100%.

We are all going to be fine, mamas.

Or we're going to be funny.

Both are perfect.