How Motherhood Changed Me writer's workshop-my Theta Thursday

So, if you haven't noticed, I have been doing a little extra writing lately. I will still always let you in on the fun steals and deals, and will always have frugal fun, nothing is going away, but I am adding a little more of me to the blog. And this Theta Mom Thursday I am doing that by joining Mama's Losin' It's writer's workshop. From here on, I will separate the two, but since my husband nicely allowed me to take an hour of silence to search deep in myself for this very important topic of How Motherhood Changed Me, they are both the same post this week!


If you read my entry for the Scary Mom contest, then you know what type of mom I am. But that isn't the same as how motherhood has changed me. I was surprised to discover that this question isn't as easily answered as it first may seem. You don't need me to tell you the obvious, like how with each extra pink line this ex-sorority girl drinker/smoker blinked and my nights got shorter and my drinks became more virgin. Or the fact that each time a wriggling, screaming child was pulled out of the surgically drawn battle scar on belly, my waistline went from an hourglass, to a pencil, to a muffin that will never see those first glimpses of the sands of time again. Or even how those perky and wonder-filled eyes morphed into something that vaguely resembles my great-grandmothers ankles in pantyhose. I could go on and on about how my priorities changed, how my schedule tightened, how my days shortened.  Or even how my wonderfully romantic relationship turned into one that was more like a business relationship, complete with appointments and tax forms. But really, none of these is how motherhood TRULY changed me.

It took me some soul searching to discover that what changed was that these two innocent loves of mine tore down the walls of defenses that I built around me. Each strategically designed window, each perfectly placed brick was crumbling. It took me 30-some years to build that wall. 30-some years to perfect the motions of pretending that I didn't care what people thought, to mask the pain of feeling unimportant. Each brick was an event, a betrayal, a fear, a challenge. Each window was a hope, a dream, a wish that came true. The mortar between each brick was like a thick layer of neosporin on my bitter wounds, closing in the trust and true love that few would ever really see~unfortunately including myself. And finally, all of this was sealed with a protective army of control. Everything had to be done my way, in my time, and on my terms. I wanted my family a certain way, in a certain area, and to have certain traits and values. You see, my biological father was given too much control over me. He tainted my vision, tainted what I thought I knew a family should be. When my stepdad came along, he taught me what I needed to know, I was finally the Daddy's girl every girl deserves to be. But still, I refused to let another man hurt me or my family in that way. Luckily, I found a man who could see through all of that, a man who was patient and just waited. A man, who I believe, thought he would break that wall down. But neither he nor I could predict that it would be our children that would finally crush that wall into bitter pieces.

There were two major defining examples of "the change". After each of my children's births, I experienced significant breathing problems. Each time I was told I needed to rush into the hospital to get an MRI, terror feeling my heart with the words "possible lung clot". With the first MRI, the nurse explained to me that I would be unable to breastfeed for 24 hours due to the dye. That control took over and I yelled at her that this just couldn't happen, my son needed to breastfeed, I had not had time to build up bottles. The risks outweighed the heavy boobs, though, and the dye was put in. As I lay on that table, the thoughts that rushed through my mind included "my hubby doesn't know how to take care of the little man, things won't get done that need to be if I have to stay in the hospital, hubby doesn't know how to bathe/feed/anything little man". I was in a sheer panic.

With the next MRI, the thoughts were significantly different. I worried about the bonding time I hadn't yet had with my sweet girl, and how we may miss out on more of it. I worried that my son would be scared, and that my husband would be worried. I worried that my children would never know me, and that my husband would be crushed.

And then, at a moment I was able to finally hear what someone else with experience had to say, I was told that no matter what, I DO MATTER!!! I matter to two of the most precious, most wonderful, most important people in the world. Two little ones that will always want me, always love me, always think that I matter. For once, I was able to hear what my kids were saying with their hearts but unable to say with their words. And I realized that suddenly I didn't have to pretend. I DO care about what two people have to say and think about me. I AM important, more important than anything, to two very important people. And as long as I have them, it truly, truly doesn't matter what others think, say, or do. As long as I make myself a better person for THEM, and as long as I make them better people, I am EXTREMELY important.

So, to the rest of the world my defenses may stay up. But finally, I can truly be myself in my own home. I can finally love myself and allow myself to love others. And I can finally realize that I am a really special person.