When I was pregnant, I had initially planned to begin my maternity leave a month before my baby was due. I was extremely uncomfortable and had a lot of back pain when I was pregnant, not due to complications, but rather hard because I had decided to completely let go for the first time in my life. I ate anything and everything in sight, and was having a very difficult time carrying around 70 extra pounds of ice cream and cheeseburgers.
As my initially planned "last day" approached, I wasn't ready to stop working. So I put it off for another two weeks. Then once again when that day approached, I decided to work for one more week. In the end, my water broke while I was working, albeit from home, and I continued to work for another 3 hours.
I had been working on a few deals that I wanted to see through completion, however that wasn't the reason that I worked for so long. I worked for so long, because without my work, I didn't know who I was. My work and my success at work was my identity. It was something I was very proud of, and I enjoyed the status and lifestyle that my career afforded me.
I remember thinking about how much I would miss work once the baby was here, and trying to devise ways to continue working on a part time basis. I was worried about my clients, knowing full well that my colleague who would be working with them would not take care of them in the way that I had done.
As soon as I laid eyes on that little red and wrinkled face, I forgot all about my work and my clients. The first night after he was born, I stayed awake all night long, just looking at him in amazement, terrified that if I fell asleep even for a moment, that someone might take him from me. My clients were the last thing on my mind.
It is funny, being a mother is not something that I ever expected to be. Yet it is the role that I have most easily and naturally assumed. My days are now spent with the most amazing little boy, and I constantly find myself grinning from ear to ear and overflowing with love for this little man.
The things that used to matter are no more. Designer bags, french manicures, weekly massages, daily dinners out and all of the other trappings of my former life mean absolutely nothing to me. I would give up every material thing I own and will ever own for my son. He is my entire world.
I used to wonder if I had a purpose in this world, and now I know exactly what that purpose is, to be his mom.
Looking back, my career wasn't nearly as thrilling and fantastic as I thought, nothing compares to motherhood.
I no longer shower daily, some weeks I only shower twice, or if we are being completely honest there have been weeks where I only showered once. I rarely get a chance to wear makeup, and even more uncommon is being able to style, or rather even just blowdry my hair. If you knew me before my little man, you would know how vain I could be and what a departure this is.
I now live in size 32 jeans, with my 28's stored in the basement in the perhaps futile hope that they may one day fit again. I wear frumpy nursing bras and I have a muffin top that hangs over my jeans. My belly is no longer firm, and jiggles and is painted with purple stretch marks. Oddly enough I feel more beautiful than I ever have, those stretch marks came from my little man. I actually smile when I look at them, remembering when he was safe inside of me and would wake me up doing what felt like jumping jacks in the middle of the night.
Some days I become envious of other moms, and I wish that we were independently wealthy, that I could stay home with my son forever and not ever have to worry about finances. However, we are not. In fact, we struggle. With my income gone, my husband's pay cut, and hefty child support payments for my husband's other 3 children, we live on less than I ever knew possible. Oddly enough, I am happier than I ever thought possible.
Who would have ever thought that 7 pounds and 7 ounces was the difference between a life of pomp and circumstance and a life of meaning.
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