To All the Mothers Before Me

Thank you for your strength. Thank you for your bravery. Thank you for the sleepless nights and exhausting days you had to overcome. 

Did you, too, wonder how your children would turn out to be?

Did you cry because you were scared in between the times you cried from happiness?

Did you, too, wonder how you were going to do it all, then come to realize no one really does it all?

You taught me kindness and patience. You taught me the world can move fast, but moments move slowly. Thank you for taking the time to pick the wild daffodils with me. They still remind me of you every year when they pop their yellow heads out of the earth, a sweet reminder that spring is on its way. I never once heard you complain about anything. How were you so selfless? How do I become more like that?

You were strong. Stronger than I think I’ll ever be. You had so many changes come your way, and you were there to adapt and start over every time.  I still hear your words of wisdom when life feels too hard. Did 5 kids drive you crazy? Will 1 kid drive me crazy? Was it all worth it? I don’t need you to answer that. I know it will be.

I now know why you would get home from work and would sit in the driveway for 20 minutes, or until someone would come out to ask you a stupid question and interrupt you from your only moment of peace that day. Did you ever feel like your voice was being forgotten; an afterthought of all of our thoughts? I hope you know how grateful I am to you for making all my soccer games, tennis matches, or school plays when I’m sure you had a top 20 list of other things you’d rather be doing. Your support allowed me to shine in ways I hadn’t yet discovered. 

It is a terrifying thing to wrap my mind around the idea of becoming a mother. 

Yes, of course, there are moments when I’m excited to meet my little one, excited to see if they’ll have his daddy’s eyes or her momma’s eagerness to laugh. Excited to hold them for the first time and feel the type of protective love I’ve never felt before. 

The truth is, I’ve lived about 95% of my 31 years on this earth thinking I don’t want to have kids.

It’s a weird change.

It’s strange to see your friend’s kids and think They’re so cute, I want one vs. my recurring thought of they’re so cute, I’m glad I get to go home and be in silence later.

What if I’m not good enough? What if they hate me? What if I never get my toned body back after carrying a child? What if I lose myself in the identity that is now mostly defined by a tiny little person I can’t control? 

What if it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me?

What if all the mothers before me were teaching me that it’s okay to simultaneously be a mom and their own individual? What if, even if they didn’t get that luxury for themselves, it’s what they wanted for me more than anything? 

What if they were still here to meet my child, and teach them, like they have taught me, to be kind and strong and wise? What if the reason I am still here, is to teach my child all the things I was taught, even if there is no written lesson plan?

The mothers before me all have something in common: They all loved their children. And so, out of every other skill they have passed to me, this one stands out the most. 

Maybe I’ll never stop being scared. Maybe I’ll always wonder if I’m doing everything wrong, and I won’t get that much-needed sleep I crave. Maybe this little tiny human will bring me more joy than I’ve ever experienced. 

I know one thing for certain: I am an accumulation of all the mothers who have come before me. I have the strength and kindness within me that they had, and I have the love they have passed to me. I will gladly continue to pass it on to the next generation. 

I will love the next generation as often and as fiercely as I can, because they might need it one day, just like I need it now.