Proud of Myself

With Charlee’s recent birthday and my return to work around the corner, I’ve been doing a lot of reflecting.

Of course, I’ve been reflecting on Charlee… how much she has grown and all of the beautiful milestones I’ve watched her reach this past year. But I’ve also been reflecting on me. On the woman I’ve become, and on the mother I’ve become.

It took almost four years of trying to get pregnant, 12 months of support from a fertility clinic, and a heartbreaking miscarriage along the way. Then several months of aggressive morning sickness and exhaustion, followed by a long and scary labour.

And then came motherhood. Months of broken sleep. Learning to breastfeed through clogged ducts, latch problems and bites. Mothering through colds without OTC meds, Noro virus, teething, sick days and exhaustion.

And doing all of it without my own mom.

Without her helping me. Without her babysitting. Without answering my “is this normal?” questions. Without cheering me on. Without being able to hand Charlee to her and say, “Here. You take her for a little while.” While missing her terribly.

There were so many moments this past year when I wished I could call my mom. So many moments when I wondered what she would think of the mother I’ve become.

But somewhere along the way, I realized something... I am doing it. I am figuring it out.

I’ve learned to trust myself. To trust my instincts and believe that I know my baby, even when I don’t have all the answers.

I’ve learned that I’m capable of far more than I ever gave myself credit for. That strength doesn’t always feel like strength… sometimes it’s just getting up and doing the next thing when you’re exhausted.

I’ve learned to ask for help and accept it. To let people love me in practical ways. I’ve learned to adapt, because just when I thought I had something figured out, Charlee would change and I’d have to figure it out all over again.

I’ve grown in patience. I’ve grown in empathy. I’ve learned how deeply I can love another person.

And I’ve learned that I can be a mother without disappearing into motherhood. That I can be completely devoted to Charlee and still be Amanda.

I’m so grateful for the people who helped carry me through this year... my friends, family and neighbours, my therapist who has trudged alongside me through this wild ride, and Jeff, who is figuring all of this out alongside me. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’m so proud of both of us.

And now, suddenly, I’m standing at the edge of another transition.

I just started taking Charlee to daycare. I just breastfed her for the last time a few days ago. And I’m just got back onto the ice for the first time in almost two years... the longest I’ve gone without skating since I was practically born.

For almost two years, so much of my life has revolved around becoming a mother and caring for my little person. But I’m remembering that I’m still me. Motherhood has changed me, but it hasn’t erased me.

It stretched me. It exhausted me. It humbled me. It broke me open. And it made me so much more capable of love.

When I look back at everything it took to get Charlee here, and everything this first year of motherhood has demanded of me, I feel proud.

Proud of the woman who kept going. Proud of the mother who figured it out as she went. Proud that I did this without my own mom beside me, even though I desperately wished she could be. Proud that I learned to trust myself. And proud that I went through hard things without letting them make me hard.

It was hard. It was messy. It was exhausting. And it was so, so worth it.

I’m proud of myself.