Hope and Motherhood

Coming back to this blog after almost five years feels oddly right at this time in my life. I hardly recognize the woman (girl?) who posted back then. Now, here I am. Thirty-four and expecting my first child– a boy!– in May. To say I have *~FeEliNgS~* about this upcoming life transition would be a gross understatement.

So, here I am. Trying to pen what it exactly feels like to have strived for something your entire life and finally…well, get it. The anticipation and weight of bringing a human into the world during such a crazy time (read: global pandemic, social unrest, capitol riots, record unemployment, etc., etc.) is… a lot. But, then, I think about this little boy swirling and leaping and kicking inside me; growing stronger each day and fully dependent on me for warmth and oxygen and nutrients. And I can’t help but feel hope. Because, without hope, what have we really got anyways? The truth is…I have no idea what I’m doing or what motherhood is going to be like. I know I can read all the books and try to prepare my brain for the sleepless nights and the holy responsibility of being someone’s mother. But, I just can’t wrapped my mind around it. I can’t and I guess I won’t try at this point. I’ll just hope and pray and hope some more. That I can not only meet his needs but help him thrive. That I can still hold onto who I am as a woman while finding a way to selflessly give all of myself.

Learning to hold on and let go. Hold on and let go. At the same time. There’s no book that can teach a mother this, is there? We all just have to cling to that kernel of hope. To nurse it and your newborn in the hopes that someday you’ll be able to look back and smile and know you did the best you knew how to do at the time.

To hope.

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Writer. Educator. Puppy & kitty mama. Soon to be (human) boy mama. Compassionate to a fault. Avid ampersand & alliteration admirer.

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