“Can you believe you’re a mommy?”

That’s a frequently-asked question in my recent conversations with friends, family…even my mom.

One word that captures my most genuine thinking: “Kinda.”

I can’t quite settle with “yes” because this time last year, I adamantly objected ideas of reproducing–at least for five more years. My life was to be spent securing a dream-like career (not that I don’t enjoy my current occupation), drinking wine, sampling microbrews, hanging out with Ry, traveling freely when money and time afforded, and operating on a schedule that answered to no one.

And “no” isn’t completely honest, either. What many say would happen, did happen–some “motherly tendencies” gene flared up not long after Lucy’s arrival and I began to feel like I was made to love her the way I believe mothers should love their children. This, however, didn’t click immediately. When Lucy was released from the hospital, I constantly questioned how she had been released to two people who weren’t fully prepared to take on the needs of a newborn without first opening one of the books that was going to “teach” us what to do to be a parent. In other words, raising Lucy didn’t seem or feel natural to me the first two-three weeks we had her home. I experienced the baby blues in waves and longed for a return to normalcy. Lucy’s adorable presence made me smile and feel cozy on the insides, yet I grappled to fully embrace this new life.

So, I kinda can believe I am a mommy. Loving Lu is easy and the patience I had yet to achieve in life has found me during the times when the lil’ one just doesn’t know what she wants and it’s 2:47 a.m. Last night is when I think it all made sense. Ry was holding Lucy and we were all snuggled on the couch and my soul felt peaceful. Yes, becoming a mom was something unexpected, but feeling what I felt in my heart last night was raw and true–a feeling I think I was supposed to feel some time in my life.

Lu's first Christmas


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