Two Years of Motherhood and I Know Nothing

I've learned so much and I still know nothing. I expect to continue to learn and that I'll continue to know nothing. Silly girl, now you know.

On a hot July evening in 2023, 40 hours after my first contractions began, I gave birth to our son.

The day my life changed (for the better), the day that would soon teach me just how wrong I was about so much. I started learning that day, and I’ve learned more and more each of the 731 days since.

I knew there would be new things to learn, but I didn’t realize I would have to learn so much about myself and about this world all over again. I didn’t realize everything I thought I knew would be flipped on its head, that I would have to rapidly re-learn it all — everything I knew, how I showed up in the world, how I prioritize.

Relearn how to respond to text messages and stand firm in my boundaries. How to stick to a routine, for the baby’s sake but mine too. How to constantly put someone else’s existence first while also remembering my own. And doing that while maintaining relationships, a life, and holding hands with the person I was before becoming a parent.

While I have (obviously) been alive for more than two years, a part of me was reborn that night. I didn’t realize it, but I can clearly, unequivocally categorize my life into two distinct eras: before I became a parent and after I became one. There’s no in-between or overlap. I am the same person, but also I am not. How could I be?

I said that would never happen. That I would be the same person I always was, that having a child wouldn’t change me, that I would prioritize everything in my life as I always had.

I said I would be different. That millions of parents before me had lost the plot, that I could have my kid and go back to life as it was.

Becoming a parent did change everything, but it didn’t actually change everything. I have many of the same interests, friendships, and favorite foods. I still enjoy going to a farmers’ market, and when we have people over for a meal, it looks very similar now to what it looked like before having kids. Except now there’s a toddler (or sometimes a few!) hanging out with us.

The parents reading this are probably snickering, knowing how impossible that is. Silly girl. Now you know.

The people who will one day be parents are probably shaking their heads. You just let it consume you, you think. That won’t happen to me. Just wait.

And the people who choose to never have kids might not ever get it, and that’s okay.

But what happened (and now I know that it’s an ‘of course this happened’), is that while the world stayed the same, I changed. I show up differently. I have different needs. I filter information, to-dos, opportunities, conversations, and plans as an entirely new person.

My priorities are crystal clear. My tolerance for bullshit — flakiness, dishonesty, playing things ‘by ear’ — has completely gone out the window. My time to myself has become more precious, with more to do, and so I find it easier to prioritize (albeit, only sometimes and only slightly, but that’s more my ADHD than anything else. The desire to act and prioritize is stronger than ever).

When I became a parent, I was torn into a million pieces and found myself needing to rebuild at a rapid speed. What’s important stayed, what wasn’t was left behind and replaced by something else. Some of the rebuilding happened overnight, some of it happened slowly. Some of what needed to come in looked me in the eye for months on end until I acknowledged it, took a breath, and invited it in.

I didn’t want to let go of everything I’ve found I needed to let go of. A lot of the last two years have been knowing something needs to change but fighting it. Thinking if I ignore these personality quirks, relationships, habits, they’ll find a way to work. That’s rarely the case, I’ve found.

If you are a parent, you probably get it — explaining the personal rebirth that happens when your child is born is profound and also sounds a little insane if you haven’t done this before. I never understood it. I thought they were crazy. I’m sorry for that.

If you’re not a parent, thanks for reading this far — this is the type of thing that I would’ve rolled my eyes at before becoming a mom; I would’ve stopped reading after the fourth paragraph. I know how it all sounds. It’s a truth I’ve fully embodied, and one I don’t expect everyone to understand.

I’ve become a walking, talking cliche, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’ve learned more than I have in the last two years and I still know absolutely nothing.