12 years ago, I became a mama...

12 years ago today I became a mama. 

For the 9 months leading up to it, I obsessed and learned everything I could learn about creating a human. Folic acid, check! Fully organic, SPF50 baby carrier, check! I didn’t worry about what would happen after as I’d been a camp counsellor, a babysitter, an older cousin, a high school teacher, a Sunday school teacher, mental health therapist and, wait for it, an outdoor program coordinator with a feminist geography degree and art education minor. I had this. Heck, I was told at the ripe age of 12 that I was meant to birth babies because of my "childbearing hips". I was repeatedly told that I would be a great mom by my village due to my VAST experience with kids… what else was there to know? 

Sure enough, this kid chose me, and educated me, and … totally and utterly schooled me. He taught me that there was a LOT more to being a parent, and that a weekend babysitting class doesn’t quite cover all the basics. He taught me that taking care of kids is very different than taking care of your kids as in the previous job description, you got to give them back. However, when they’re your own, this job can be relentless - some hours it's soul-shattering and then minutes later it's soul-filling!  Parenting is a constant rollercoaster of emotions, exhaustion, exhilaration, and then we do it again the next day.  

He repeatedly had to teach me that I cannot control everything. That being a “good mom” isn’t about having the right gear (although I did like my baby carrier), obsessing over the amount of food being consumed or even the number of hours he slept. It wasn’t about micromanaging every single moment of his day to ensure out of fear that something I would or wouldn’t do would lead him to a life of drugs, crime and skin cancer. 
​
Instead, he showed me that perhaps the best mom is the “good enough” mom.

The “good enough” mom sees the big picture, finds patience every day, and prioritizes connection and wellness. This last part may be my greatest lesson and truthfully, after 12 years, I’m still learning how to be “good enough”, and that, as the captain of this plane, if my oxygen mask isn’t on, I can’t take care of anyone. I’m STILL learning day to day how powerful my emotions are in determining if we’re going to have a day of peace or chaos. AND that if I want peace, I need to manage my own emotions, model my self-care and remind myself that everything he does - his behaviours, actions, thoughts and emotions - is part of his growing up process, and part of what he needs to do to create the brain/nervous system that will help him navigate this big, fast, ever-changing world. He’s not giving me a hard time, he’s having a hard time… rinse and repeat. 

He essentially taught me to breathe. 

This glorious, 7lb15oz human tore out of my body after 23 hours of labour at 10:32 pm. The experience led me to hemorrhage and be put under (post-baby - it was awkward), forced me to take a week of bed rest after my birthing hips failed to labour “easily”, and THEN this little man ate most of my available calories for the next 22 months, which I was later told might explain not one, not two, but possibly the three miscarriages that happened prior to having my second child. And all the while, this beautiful being has taught me to keep showing up! And most importantly, he has taught me to breathe. 

To heal. 

To put my O2 mask on first. 

It was my first big lesson that I couldn’t control everything and let me say, it is a lesson I need to be reminded of almost every. single. day.

Also on the list of HIS parental achievements is teaching me about unconditional love. We hear about it in love songs, but until I went through this day-to-day parental rollercoaster, I’m not convinced I fully understood it. But, I think I get it now. Loving a child is raw, relentless and hard, but it’s also soft, soul-filling and glorious. It’s what keeps me showing up at 2 am when he has a nightmare and my heart breaks into a million pieces that he’s hurting, or at 5:30 pm when it’s time for the “get off screens” dance and I feel incredulous that we have to do this again and again and again, or at 7 am when he crawls into my bed and we have this gentle moment of connection and he tells me that he loves me and “it’s going to be a great day”. This kid teaches me daily to emotionally and courageously pivot, but to always keep one foot on the ground… 

My 12-year-old babe continues to teach me about compassion, thoughtfulness, acceptance and the art of letting go (still working on that one). I knew that words hurt, that rage was scary, and that anger was okay, but I’ve now learned that mistakes and rupture are inevitable (and sometimes welcome), AND that repair is always available and essential.

This beautiful little boy reminds me that, despite his enormous foot size and emergence into adult clothing, he’s still developing and has a long way to go before he’s able to navigate the world on his own. He’s a child. He’s a 12-year-old child, but he’s still a child, and he needs his mama and his papa, and his village almost as much as he needed me back then when he was this little being, nuzzling up my chest to be fed. 

12 years ago I became a mama. I am so deeply grateful that he chose me and continuously teaches me how to be a brave, kind and, despite the many distractions in this pandemic world, a  present human and parent.