Navigating motherhood can often feel daunting, and there are moments of uncertainty when we question whether we are making the right choices for our families and ourselves. This narrative highlights how my daughter helped me recognize the positive impact I am having on her life.
My partner, Jake, is remarkable—everyone adores him. He’s patient, kind, fun, intelligent, and an exceptional father. From the moment I learned I was expecting, he was ready to step in and assist in every way possible. He brought me a pregnancy pillow, helped me with my socks every night even though my feet were swollen, and encouraged me so enthusiastically during labor that I found myself smiling through the contractions. After two exhausting hours of pushing, Jake officially became a dad.
Fortunately for me, he is a teacher, so when our daughter was born in early summer, he was there to support me completely. I managed to shower and eat regularly, laundry was taken care of, and I genuinely felt accompanied. Eager to involve him, I often took a backseat whenever possible, especially as a nursing mother. It might have been that, despite having a constant support system, I felt overwhelmed, and the backseat felt like the safest place.
From the moment I gave birth, anxiety loomed over my impending return to work. With a four-hour daily commute on public transport, I could only expect to spend a couple of hours with my child, which would consist of drop-offs and bedtime routines. I remember sitting in mesh hospital underwear, already envious of Jake, who would be able to pick her up at 3 p.m. and enjoy precious one-on-one time with her. I constantly worried about how my daughter would transition from having both parents around to being cared for by strangers. I refrained from holding her as much as I desired, knowing she couldn’t always be picked up in a room full of infants. The idea of her crying for hours was unbearable, though I had no clue if that would even happen. Could a 12-week-old truly be “prepared”? Unfortunately, summer doesn’t last forever, and soon Jake returned to work.
My time alone with our daughter is a blur, but I do remember my worries about her weight due to my struggles with breastfeeding. I recall our tummy time sessions and dress-up photo shoots, but most vividly, I remember Jake’s enormous smile when he walked through the door. He would kiss me and immediately reach for her, and witnessing their bond filled my heart with joy. As my 12-week maternity leave came to an end, the anxiety of returning to work became overwhelming.
There were, however, some silver linings. I genuinely enjoyed my job—it was challenging and fulfilling. I was fortunate to have a supportive boss who allowed me to work from home two days a week. This arrangement eased my commute and helped me adjust to daycare, and I will forever be thankful for that opportunity. On commuting days, I would wake up at 5 a.m. to pump a meager amount of breast milk, prepare for the day, and then wake our sleeping baby because, after all, Mommy had a train to catch.
On my first day back to the grind, I cried the entire time I got her ready until she unexpectedly fountain-peed all over me. This incident turned my tears into laughter as I dug deep for resilience to get her dressed.
We were always the first to arrive at daycare, which opened at 6:30 a.m. I had to catch a 6:52 a.m. train that was a short drive away, necessitating a well-orchestrated morning routine. I dropped off bottles—half of them formula, half breast milk since I couldn’t pump enough for a full day—and quickly buckled her into a swing, kissed her goodbye, and dashed for the train. Surprisingly, I often made it, finding a seat and attempting to transition into “work mode” by the time I reached my desk at 8:30 a.m.
The commute home was similarly frantic. I rushed to catch trains, yearning to spend even a few minutes with my girl before feeding her, putting her to bed, and diving into the evening’s responsibilities. It was a chaotic cycle of washing bottles and preparing for the next day, which continued for an entire year. Eventually, I decided it was time for a change. I left my rewarding job to return to a previous field.
This shift meant a significant pay cut, but my new role was in our neighborhood, with daycare just around the corner. No more rushing for trains or long days away from her—I thought this was my opportunity to become my daughter’s hero, with Jake taking a backseat. While I understood this wasn’t a competition, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I wanted to be number one in her life.
However, when my new job started, it didn’t meet my expectations. Although I bonded with my new colleagues, the demands of late nights and weekend work left me even less available than before. My relationship with “Moana” and “Sing” deepened, as I relied on these movies to distract my daughter while I navigated a chaotic routine.
Despite the short commute, Jake left early for work, which meant I was responsible for our daughter during the morning rush before an already stressful workday. My new role, which I thought would allow me to shine, instead added layers of anxiety, as I struggled to balance work, household chores, and motherhood. I found myself using movies to buy time, feeling defeated and inadequate as a parent. The competition I had envisioned with Jake faded as stress consumed me, making my connection with my daughter feel weaker than I desired.
It wasn’t until I switched jobs again that I started seeing a glimmer of hope. This third position was serendipitously perfect, aligning with the right circumstances and supportive bosses that transformed my perspective. I began to step back and truly hear what my daughter was expressing:
When she said, “Mama, come watch Moana with me,” it was her way of asking for my attention. “Mama, I need your help putting my shirt on” was her attempt to share a story while getting dressed. Even when she called out, “Mama, I need a tissue!” before bed, it was her way of seeking comfort.
Once I deciphered the deeper meanings behind her words, a new world unfolded. I noticed her mirroring my actions—if I held my fork in my left hand, so did she. If I cleared my throat, she followed suit. She even began calling me “babe,” just as I called her. Recognizing this imitation was a revelation that I had previously overlooked.
The past year has been filled with joyful moments rather than despair. My conversations with Jake shifted from conflict over trivial matters to appreciation for one another’s contributions. Although not perfect, we are continuously working on it, striving for balance instead of dwelling in shadows.
Just last week, as I prepared my daughter for bed after a long day, she asked whether she wanted her wild curls up or down. When she said, “I want them up, just like you, Mama,” my heart swelled. She truly is my partner in this journey, and I feel immensely grateful to finally recognize that bond.
For more insights on parenting and self-care, check out this article. If you’re interested in enhancing your fertility journey, resources like this fertility booster can be invaluable. Additionally, March of Dimes offers excellent information on pregnancy and home insemination.
In summary, motherhood is filled with challenges and triumphs. By recognizing the subtle ways our children reflect our actions, we can find joy and connection in our parenting journeys.
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