Becoming a mother was a defining – or rather redefining – moment in my life. One that caused me to question what existed before and what was to come after. Becoming a SAHM was another such moment.
What is a SAHM, you ask?
When you dive into the new mommy message board subculture looking for answers on how to figure out this new, overwhelming and altogether terrifying mom life, one of the first things you’re confronted with is the language barrier. No, this isn’t your typical lol or smh.
Somewhere between actually TTC (trying to conceive) and POAS (peeing on a stick) until you finally get that BFP (big fat positive), most new moms fall into the digital rabbit hole of mamas desperately trying to make sense of the madness, and sounding pretty insane in the process!
FTM here. DH and I are so excited for DD to arrive!! I’m planning to EBF, BW and CD. TIA for tips and suggestions!
If you can’t read that without opening another window to do a Google search, you have not been baptized into the online faith of parenthood. No worries. Allow me to gently dip you into the life changing waters of being born again as a SAHM (stay at home mom).
Growing up, I wanted to be an astronaut, a cardiologist and a firefighter. All three. Simultaneously. I also wanted children, but thought I’d have to have them by the age of 25 because otherwise I’d be too old. Twenty-five is sooooo old in the mind of a six-year-old. After completing undergrad and landing my first job in my field, I thought I’d be many things – a millionaire, a successful novelist with a loyal following of readers or even Oprah…. but stay at home mom never.
In fact, I was enjoying my career so much that I’d begun to question whether I wanted to be a mom at all. I had the world by a string and was having a ball until I was assaulted and my world came crashing down. No trigger warnings necessary. I’m not going into detail. That is another blog for another day. But this was the lowest point in my adult life which prompted me to rebuild and rediscover the core of who I was. What I learned was that in my heart I was meant to be a mommy.
Family and heritage meant everything to me. If I did not dedicate at least some part of my life to building a legacy for the next generation, I would not have felt complete. I tucked that newly discovered desire deep in my heart, left my job and all that I knew for an adventure halfway around the world in West Africa where I grew in ways I’d never dreamed possible.
I didn’t meet my husband until late in my twenties, less than a week after I’d returned from overseas to live in Atlanta. I knew immediately he was a great guy. It didn’t take long to figure out that he was the guy. By that point I had already figured that 25 was not at all old, but still wasn’t quite ready for children. After a few years, the desire for children became overwhelming, but I was rapidly approaching 35 and all the doom and gloom of my fertility dropping off a cliff.
While I was well versed on the black hole into which my fertility would drop the moment I blew out the candles on my 35th birthday cake, I was still quite shocked that conceiving proved to be a bit of a challenge. About six months after a CP (chemical pregnancy) and the deep depression that followed, my physician suggested Clomid. I got my BFP (big fat positive) the first month.
I was excited, but had no clue what was in store. Far from the glowing nine months that I anticipated, my pregnancy started with hyperemesis and ended with pre-eclampsia, HELLP (hemolysis, elevated liver enzymes, and low platelet count) and an emergency C-section. As scary as it was, I’d do it again, post-partum eclamptic seizures and all, to have my daughter.
My newly retired mother would take care of the baby when I went back to work 8 weeks later. I have no idea why I was in such a rush. I guess to prove to the world and to myself that having a baby wouldn’t change me. Ha!
I immediately dove right into figuring out how to get the baby to my mom and get myself and my husband to the office on time and then repeat this cross-city trek at the end of the day. Did I mention we only had one car? Did I also mention that my mom had a double mastectomy a week after the baby was born? But like every other hardship in my life I took it all in stride refusing to let it get me down. I knew we would figure it out. It was difficult and very stressful and I had to call off some days from work and work sometimes late at night just to get everything done. It wasn’t always pretty, but we survived.
Given the terrifying circumstances of our birth story, my husband and I declared we were ‘one and done!’ That’s until my daughter – at this point around a year old – started chasing and clamping onto random kids at group playdates and in public places in desperate bid to interact. My husband and I knew she needed the sibling that we were hell bent on not giving her. Eventually we decided to start TTC after her 2nd birthday. Imagine our surprise when I got pregnant (naturally!) when she was 15 months old and our second baby girl was due in November just like her big sister. February is the month for Valentine’s Day and my husband’s birthday, so go figure.
Facing the reality of two children born two years and two weeks apart, I realized adding another baby to an already hectic mix was going to be a recipe for disaster. Something had to give. That something was my job. My mom, though her prognosis was good, was in no shape to care for a rambunctious toddler and a newborn. And the daycare costs for the girls would have equaled, if not surpassed, my take home pay. The decision was clear, but for someone who had always been defined by my job; it was a difficult pill to swallow – another redefinition of myself.
My pregnancy and birth of our YDD (youngest dear daughter) was by the book. I cherished every second of the experience. I took pictures, held my husband’s hand and looked into his eyes searching for everything I’d missed in the hoopla surrounding the birth of my ODD (oldest dear daughter). We were discharged on Thanksgiving and arrived home to my mom and in laws waiting. I’d arranged (the week before my scheduled c-section) a simple lunch for us that my mother flawlessly executed. It was lovely. And from that moment on, I vowed and often have had to remind myself, to just sit with my baby on my swollen breasts, put my feet up and drink it all in – really become this SAHM that I set out to be.
Every time that fear and anxiety rises up in my chest urging me to meet others’ definitions of who I should be, I remind myself that I made a commitment to be the caretaker that these babies need and deserve – more redefinition of myself. Am I perfect? No. Do I have it all figured out? Hell no! But I do know that I have committed to this path for this time and that while it is a tall order, I am up for the challenge.
So there you have it. I’m a SAHM and no longer a FTP (first time parent). I’m ERF (extended rear facing), EBF (exclusively breast feeding), BW (baby wearing) and I MMOBF (make my own baby food)! I’m on the wild and crazy redefining ride of parenthood and hopefully some of my lessons learned will help you along the way.
