Woman | Mum
When I became pregnant, there was something that scared the crap out of me. Childbirth? Sore titties? Post-natal depression? No. I mean, yes, the idea of all of that was pretty scary, but there was something else.
I was scared I was going to lose myself. I thought that the traits that defined me were going to disappear and I was going to turn into one of those mums who only talk about piss, poo and how well their kid is doing in ballet.
Stay with me for four minutes. I’ll tell you about those fears, and about what happened to them when I went from woman to mum.
Woman
Before becoming a mum, I was a shy but proud woman. I cared about social justice and the struggles that people face. I cared about my career, which I had made a huge effort to build. Unsurprisingly, going from broke supermarket worker to less-broke marketing manager requires effort.
It was important to me to be a good friend and to look after my family. I loved dancing and drinking Malibu on nights out… I loved nights out!
I loved going to late-night jazz or rap gigs. Because all the good stuff happens late at night. I also liked taking saxophone lessons. I felt fire in my lungs after each lesson. And the fire was both metaphorical and literal. I loved those feelings.
And one of the things I liked the most was being able to be in complete silence when I needed it.
And when I became a mum I thought I would lose it all.
Mum
But I didn’t lose it all. When I became a mum, I continued to be the woman I was, but with an extra dose of responsibility and many extra doses of happiness.
Sure, I’m still shy. But when I’m with my daughter I feel more powerful and less afraid of being goofy — she’s a great excuse. I used to be proud of my work and my achievements. Now, I feel proud of those things plus I feel proud of her. Her intelligence, her imagination, her curly hair and chocolate-coloured eyes.
I still care about social justice, peoples’ struggles, and now, even more than before, women’s struggles. Because of her, things I didn’t think much of in the past have become unacceptable now that I think about her future.
Professionally, my body and my mind needed me to stop for a bit. But after that I went back to work with more motivation than ever before, willing to achieve things I could tell her about and that can inspire her when she grows up.
I’m sure I’m still a good friend. I’m just not always available. Instead of me being the ever-accommodating one, it’s my friends who need to work around my new routines. And, guess what? That’s totally fine. I strengthened friendships that are now unbreakable. I created new ones through motherhood. And I finally ended some friendships that were already virtually broken. My friendships are now more and, more importantly, better.
In relation to family…giving birth to a full human being is no joke. The physical and emotional pain is almost unspeakable. So the respect and admiration for all the women in my family has grown enormously after I went through that experience. And the gift of a granddaughter, a great-granddaughter, a niece, a cousin is the best I could ever give them.
I continue to dance, but with her in a sling, next to my heart. And we danced in pretty big events too. Dancing had never been this wonderful. Malibu stayed in my life. Why did I think I could never have a drink again after becoming a mum?!
I still have nights out and I still go to concerts. Instead of late-night jazz or rap gigs, it’s usually early-afternoon rockabilly gigs for kids… And, every now and then, a late-night jazz or rap gig. That’s where those great friendships and loving family members come in.
My saxophone lessons never came back, same as many other hobbies. Sometimes I miss knowing how to play, but I like the memory of the lessons and I keep the dream of going back to them some time. It’s important to have dreams, isn’t it?
I used to like being able to be in complete silence when I needed it. And I must admit that I can’t do that anymore. I can only be in complete silence if she’s not home or if she sleeps. The rest of the time is inundated by that type of contagious laughter that can’t be faked, by badly-sang songs, by badly-pronounced words that sound perfect to me, by tales and stories that I make up to entertain and nurture her unstoppable mind. Silence is still precious to me, but those other noisy moments make my soul smile, so I gladly accept the trade.
I don’t know what I was so worried about.
