When my son rolled over, I felt relieved. The small, locked-away yet powerfully pessimistic part of yourself worries that your child won’t develop as he should, so when you realize he is, you breathe a sigh of relief. His ability to go from his stomach to his back, from his back to his stomach and back again, was the palpable proof that he was thriving. I smiled and silently patted my exhausted self on the back and choked back a very real, very harrowing and very surprising feeling of loneliness.
When my son walked, I laughed lovingly. When your child starts looking and acting and resembling a tiny, capable human, instead of a helpless infant, you start to make plans. I grew overwhelmingly excited, just thinking about the upcoming trips and future adventures, made easier by his new-found mobility. I smiled and silently planned in my exhausted brain and choked back a very real, very harrowing and – at this point – very troublesome feeling of loneliness.
Each milestone he met left me face-to-face with the somewhat selfish, insecure and worried parts of myself.
Being a mother is taxing; not just in sleep-deprivation or constant self-sacrifice or hormonal and physical changes. Being a mother forces you to examine yourself on a regular basis. Am I doing what is best for my family? Is this for me, or for them? Am I setting a good example? Am I being a hypocrite? Am I acting as I would hope my child would act? Am I strong enough? Am I kind enough?
Am I enough?
And with each question comes the realization that motherhood, like anything else in life, is a grand opportunity to better yourself.
If capitalized on, of course.
It means he doesn’t get to live and, after all, the ability for my son to live his life is why I gave it to him.
Of course, this isn’t to say I won’t choke back that very real, very harrowing feeling of loneliness when he hits his next milestone. In fact, his first birthday is a few weeks away and I’ve already ordered additional tissues on Amazon. However, in those moments, I will remind myself why I had my son in the first place. His life isn’t for me. It’s for him. His life is his to learn and grow and feel pain and flourish and experience all the wonderful and terrifying and beautiful things the fabric of life is weaved of.
His life should propel him forward, in a way that will leave me laughing through the tears and crying through the celebrations.
And I’ll be there, reminding him that the feeling he has in that very moment, is every feeling I wished for him when he was doing the same.
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I feel exactly the same way about my two and a half year old little boy. Selfish and proud and happy all at the same time. Thank you for a wonderful post. I had tears in my eyes reading it.