I'll be honest; Motherhood was not an easy transition for me. I know mothers who eased into it with poise and never looked back. I am not one of those mothers.
My most recent full time office job was the peak to my career I had been hoping to find for some time. It was what made the history of bad jobs, hellish bosses, ridiculous commutes, and years of arduous education all worth it. I had finally found the right company and people that came together in perfect alignment. The trust I was handed and ability to thrive in experience seemed to triple each quarter. I never counted the hours, waiting for the day to end. While there were moments of exhaustion after big projects or difficult employee issues to be resolved, I can say I almost always felt a sense of accomplishment and appreciation. I temporarily overcame my anxiety of flying through frequent travel to new places without getting lost or missing a single flight. Perhaps these are the reasons I heard this response when I told people I was pregnant: Was it planned?
Yes, it was planned. The timing in which we had our son was planned. The job description for Mother was something I had not planned.
I reflect often on the hardest classes I had in college and wonder how I passed when my test results were often the letters in the alphabet further away from the first. Then I recall the bell curve grading method. On difficult days of motherhood I remember that bell curve my math teachers would draw on the board and how comforting that would make me feel- almost like a big blanket at the beginning of a semester.
Fortunately, motherhood has a similar learning curve. I am allowed to do some things wrong once in a while, I am allowed to learn from them. My son probably didn’t understand (or remember) those words I might have mumbled (or perhaps shouted) in those initial days and weeks of frustration and fatigue while figuring out this new job.
Similar to my former career, right when I feel like I have things under control, it all changes. That learning curve continues to travels into the front of my mind just as I feel so hopeless, like I wasn't cut out for motherhood. While there are times I consider launching a job search on Monster.com (or Give-Away-My-Monster.com), I take a deep breath and think about the new challenges I am unfamiliar with. What resources I have available to help me get closer to acing this test. Okay, sometimes I cheat and say a little prayer for help. It's usually followed by a moment bigger than words can describe. There have been several, but one of my favorites happened in April.
We went to the botanical gardens and it was probably the only place in all of New York that still had green grass. It seemed to take the usual hour to prepare to leave the house. I imagine I was late meeting friends there and forgot to pack a lunch. It didn't occur to me Zane had never touched grass until I put him on the ground for a picture without his shoes. His little toes wiggled and he dug his fingers into the thick, green blades. He had the most curious look on his face. As I took pictures I choked back tears. This is what it's all about, I thought. Things just seemed so clear and peaceful and pure that moment. I realized how incredibly amazing it was to watch this little body that grew inside of me explore a little part of nature and I got to see it all unfold before my eyes. I think my heart consumed the entire inside of me until it was bursting through my skin at the miracle of this gift. A child I get to nurture and teach and love all day long. Somehow a simple little moment opened my mind to the joys that outweigh the challenges of difficult days. Whatever that feeling was called, it was so far beyond the appreciation and accomplishment of my former life that I vowed to take on a new definition of success. The rest of the day took on a new angle. Zane spitting up all over me each hour didn't aggravate me as much. Stopping frequently throughout the day to nurse didn't seem so disruptive. The dirty dishes in the sink didn't glare at me so strongly. And the dry cleaning, well, Mike likes to work from home in a T-shirt once in a while anyway.
I was able to replace the bell curve with that memory; I keep the picture up in my room so maybe my eyes will catch it on the next bad day.
