No one tells you what it’s actually like to give birth.
Sure, there are plenty of encouraging platitudes—”You’ll do great,” “It’s not that bad,” even, “You won’t even remember the pain.” Some people paint the most realistic picture possible, describing big needles, puddles of blood, and weeks of soreness at every step. Everyone tells their own birth story, hoping somehow to encourage you with tales of their own survival.
But at the end of the day, when the contractions start and your first baby’s arrival is imminent, it doesn’t matter how many birthing classes you went to and how many Lamaze videos you watched: No one can accurately describe the battle of giving birth, and the colossal feelings of victory and delight when the wailing baby appears, wrinkled and grumpy and so, so sweet.
You wish you would have known, but somehow, when it’s your turn to talk about it, your description falls short. You can’t quite figure out how to put the miracle into words. But that’s normal.
Because this is motherhood.
And nothing prepares you for motherhood, because some things are too deep to describe.
Motherhood is showing confidence when you are clueless and terrified.
It is exhibiting strength when you are weak and tired.
It is giving when you wish you could take.
It is stepping back to watch the first steps, the first drive, the first dance.
It is surrendering when you wish you were in control.
It is being kind and gentle and supportive even when you do not understand.
Motherhood is a terrifying miracle, an astounding simplicity, a joyous heartbreak. None of us really knows how to “do mothering well.” We just do the best we can, and ask Jesus to please, please guide and protect our sweet babies through to old age.
To the mothers who have babies,
and to those who have lost them,
To the mothers who have raised their own children,
and to the ones who have loved the children they did not bear,
To the mothers who are doing it all alone,
and the ones who are doing it differently,
To the mothers who have no clue what they’re doing,
and are just hoping to survive the next 24 hours,
To the mothers who are strong, and courageous,
and so, so beautiful—that’s all of them—
This one’s for you.
I asked Curtis (he’s very wonderful) this week when everything would stop being a novelty with Graham. Maybe someday I won’t be excited to see how he looks with a hair cut, or when he takes a few steps without falling over—but for now, everything is all novelty, and I’m 100% okay with that.