You’re standing on the diving board, just a few steps away, and then you’ll fall into the water. How cold and how deep it is, you can only guess.
You have nine months to get used to the idea that you’ll soon be a mom. That there will be someone who will need you for their entire life. Someone you’ll always be there for. You can read guides and ask friends, but you won’t truly know what it’s like until the time comes.
You take a running start, speeding up, racing toward the edge of the diving board.
“I can see the head! Just two more pushes, and the baby will be here.” Panic, pain, anticipation. Everything is about to change. The moment has come…
And you jump. Flailing your arms, you dive into the water.
Your child is here. Time stands still. These emotions. This exhaustion. Laughter, tears, kisses. Unbelievable.
You sink deeper into the water, staying down until you’re gasping for air. You start kicking, trying to get back to the surface.
Why didn’t anyone tell you that motherhood is so all-encompassing? You had no idea what it would mean. Sleepless nights, sore nipples, arguments with your partner, dirty diapers, crying – so much crying. Comforting, singing, playing finger games, crying over the first “Mama,” the first steps, putting on band-aids, packing lunchboxes, cheering during bike rides, watching ants, reading Bobo Siebenschläfer, scooting over in bed at night, stepping on LEGO, scraping playdough off the floor, memorizing superheroes, soothing fevers, sitting in crowded doctor’s offices, baking mud pies, collecting seashells, licking ice cream off your shirt, crying from exhaustion, missing nights out, falling asleep during every movie after 10 minutes, eating fish sticks every week, scheduling speech therapy appointments, surviving parent-teacher meetings, shaking sand out of sandals, baking for daycare parties, researching school backpacks for hours, wiping up spilled drinks, getting your first gray hairs, standing by their beds at night and listening to them breathe, checking homework, missing them, cursing them, never going to the bathroom alone, losing friends and making new ones, receiving handmade drawings and celebrating Mother’s Day, organizing sleepovers, mediating sibling fights, comforting their first heartbreak, mountains of laundry, saying “If-then” statements, jumping in puddles, choking up during dance recitals, reading The Robber Hotzenplotz, calling your boss again because your child is sick, watching your relationship wobble, encouraging piano practice, getting annoyed by parenting advice, baking spelt pancakes, giving courage, climbing trees, thinking about pets, bursting with love, and sometimes with anger too.
You surface, gasping for air. You lie on your back, let yourself float, and look up at the sky.
Yes, sometimes it feels like we’re drowning, losing ourselves, not meeting anyone’s expectations. No matter how you feel right now: life goes on. Tomorrow is a new day. You took the leap and jumped straight into life. With everything that comes with it – joy, struggle, tears, and love. You gave birth to a child, gave them life. You’re not going under. You’ll fight your way back. And until then, just lie on your back and look at the sky.
