Motherhood: A Continual Adaptation

If someone had tried to explain to me how much my life would change by becoming a mother before I became one, I don’t think I would have understood.  Really, I’m not sure there are words to really explain it.  Motherhood is such a continual, high-level adaptation process, that it’s amazing any of us survive it.  The very beginning is all physical, and that alone is a miraculous, but crazy thing.

my first pregnancy

Along with the big belly and the aching back comes loss of sleep and the desire to “nest”.  This, of course, is training for the next phase in which an actual child gives us the aching back, loss of sleep, and the need, if not desire, to at least try and keep up with the never-ending cleanup jobs. But, that’s the part we all know about.

Perhaps you’ve read about the studies that show that women’s brains actually grow when they become mothers.  How can that be when the early stages of motherhood are more infamous for inducing that other kind of mommy brain?  So, our bodies change, our cognitive ability grows. Adapt. Adapt.

And then what happens? Our babies start doing tricks.  First they crawl, and then they walk. The messes get bigger.  The level of child-proofing increases (whether it be for the safety of your child or the protection of your belongings). We learn how to do everything one-handed. And then the talking starts. We become adept at toddler translation and we have to come up with answers to those time-honored questions that all kids ask.  The classic: Why is the sky blue?,  the embarrassing: Does that man have a baby in his belly?, and the relentless: Why, Why, Why….?

When we get used to being “mother of one” some of us keep it interesting by adding in a second child, and then, “What happens if we add a third?  a fourth?” Those are questions I still don’t even want to ask, but the simple answer is, we adapt.  We adapt, adapt, adapt, and then adapt some more.

At three and five, my kids are not that old, and I have a long way to go to reach full metamorphosis. But, the other day I was at an indoor playground letting my kids blow off some steam.  In the corner designed for babies and toddlers, there were three mothers gathered, lounging on the foam mats, helping their crawlers and new walkers navigate the small slide and activity stations.  I evesdropped as they discussed diapers, multiple outfit changes per day, favorite pacifiers, baby food flavors and more.  One mother said, “I can’t wait till she can talk!” I giggled to myself as the sounds of my own two children screaming at one another echoed down from the climbing tubes above.  It made me feel old and wise, and yet, it wasn’t that long ago that I was one of those mothers, so focused on naps, feedings, and play dates and wondering what my babies would be like when they weren’t babies any more.

When my kids were in preschool, I can recall lamenting the fact that there weren’t many moms with school-aged kids around.  Where were they all?  Why couldn’t I find a few to be friends with so they could give me tips and tricks and sage advice?  Now, my kids are school aged, and I know the answers to those questions. If the older me had been sitting there a few years ago with the younger me, this is what the older me would say:

We’re busy.  You might think that putting the kids in school will give you all kinds of extra free time, but it won’t. We’re not doing fun stuff ether.  We’re in the car for about 2 hours a day on average.  Never volunteer to be the room mom for both kids in the same year. We’re fundraising. We’re girl scouting, we’re gymnasticising, we’re sewing up waistlines and stitching on knee patches.  We’re cleaning the house more because bigger kids make bigger messes, we’re learning sight words, and letter sounds, and Spanish phrases, and all the names of all the other kids in class, and the names of the parents of the kids. And beyond all that, we’re trying to find stimulation for our own, now bigger, brain.  What’s more, we don’t have any advice for you, with your cute little preschoolers, because we don’t remember the details.  We don’t recall how we managed to potty train, what we paid for swim lessons, or which sippy cup worked best. You’ll figure it out.  Everyone does it differently.  You’ll adapt, adapt, and then adapt some more, and just when you think you’ve got it down, things will change again, so just get ready and enjoy where you’re at.

If you’re on Facebook at all, or you read blogs at all, you probably recently read the Don’t Carpe Diem post from Glennon at Momastery. (And if you haven’t, you really, really should.) Someday we’ll all be that little old lady in the grocery store, admiring those cute little kids.  I’m not sure, but I think I ran into my older self near the eggs yesterday morning.  I was worried at first, because she started out with, “You’re so lucky to have a little one…” but then she smiled and finished up with, “sometimes it’s hard, and they wear you out, but you’ll be so glad that you had them.”  I smiled back and thanked her, and as she moved on to the lunch meat, I tried to imagine what it will be like when I am a senior citizen and my children are grown and gone.  It was a little panic-inducing, so I just chanted to myself. “Adapt, adapt, adapt…”

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