Being a mother has changed me, in the most uncomfortable, beautiful way possible. From the time when I first saw a faint pink stripe appear on the EPT, to the moment I held my son’s tiny hand for the first time, to now, there has been a constant remolding and reshaping of my heat.
Before my pregnancy, I was thoroughly enjoying the early years of being married to my husband, working at a career that I loved and taking care of myself: spending as much time as possible with my husband, growing roots in a church, hanging out with my girlfriends, traveling places far and wide. Basically living the dream, or so I thought.
However, the dream came later, when Levi’s existence began. When I first saw the tiny heart fluttering in black and white, as plain as day. When I first felt him kick me and wiggle excitedly at the sound of my voice. When my water broke, and I was so scared that I wanted to throw up. When my husband supported and encouraged me through labor, and placed our son on my chest so I could see his face for the first time. When he first laughed. The dream came later.
The center of my universe changed, the moment I became a mother and realized it was no longer about me. It’s as if God told me, “this is why you’re here, this is why you exist”.
I am no longer thinking about my needs, but instead I am thinking about how I am needed. Being needed by my son has given me a new purpose in life. It has caused me to look inward in a way I never have before, because I want him to see the best version of me. I don’t only want him to see it, I want to be it. In order to be the best version of myself I have had to face uncomfortable moments, like accepting that I struggled with PPD. I have had to analyze how I react to things that fluster me in a way that is not very pretty. These are only a couple of the things that have urgently demanded that I change for the better, because my son is watching. I want him to see me as the best me possible. Even though he looks at me like I’m the most beautiful, perfect thing in the world, I don’t fall for that trap for a second. Once I use his biased opinion of me as means to measure my wellness and growth is the moment where I get complacent. I refuse to be complacent because I refuse to stop growing. My son is watching, so I’m about to be the best damn version of myself.