On Grief

The first year or so of being a Mom is definitely about transition and change. And it's not just about staying home more, eating out less, working at home instead of an office, etc. I have left behind the person I was. The first few months of this transformation were very difficult. I struggled with the constant demands and needs of a child and the fact that I was the main person who was responsible (sure, Dad can help, but Mom's the one with the full-time duty). I kept wanting to divide the work evenly (read: fairly) like we might with housework while we were both working full-time. Being a Mom just doesn't work like that.

In those first few months, I had a sense of grieving for the freedom and independence I once had. It was shocking and visceral, at first, and tears hovered on the surface almost all the time. Over time, I have become accustomed to my new role, and have started to appreciate the incredible blessings of being a Mom. Like the first time Baby Z looked at me like I was the only person in the world. And the way he reaches up to touch my face when he is breastfeeding. And the fact that when he is really upset, I am the one who is best able to comfort him. These are things Dad doesn't get, no matter how much he chips in and helps out.

However, as I'm learning is part of the process of grieving, there are times when the pain of loss hits you again. It comes often when you least expect it-- something reminds you of what you had, the way things were, the way things will never be again. It often comes when you do something you used to do, but it's just not the same, no matter how similar you make it.

For me, this loss hit me again when I went away with John for a night in celebration of our anniversary. We left Baby Z with Grandma, and went to a Bed & Breakfast where we spent one night of our honeymoon. I was so looking forward to not thinking about bottles or bed times. I could leave it all behind and have a great date night, just me and John, like before we had a baby.

The reality is that there is no going back. I am not the same person. I will never again be able to just be a woman or a wife. I am a mother.

It's hard to explain what this feels like. It wasn't that I was worried about Baby Z or I was so distracted by being away from him that I didn't have a good time. It felt good to have a break and to be away from the baby. It's just that I realized a part of me would always, forever, be tied to that other person. There no longer existed a world of just me, or just me and John.

Of course, it didn't help that I realized in the middle of the night that I had forgotten my pump. It seemed the perfect metaphor for the whole trip. I wanted very much to leave motherhood behind (thus leaving the pump at home), but physically (and emotionally) I realized I would never be able to do that, ever again. My boobs were there to remind me even if my brain didn't want to.

Just like grieving over the loss of a loved one, I start to remind myself to be thankful for what I did have before and the wonderful new blessings I have now. But it's okay to admit that I'm sad and I still feel the loss. It's okay to let myself mourn that loss. Then, once the tears are out and I've let myself feel what I need to feel, I'm ready again to focus on the blessings and joys of today.

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