Every pregnant woman is different. For some, the heightened hormones that come with pregnancy mean uncontrollable tears, fears, or other kinds of emotional roller coasters. For me, those nine months weren’t any more or less impassioned than any other time in my adult life. I laughed and cried just as much as usual, which meant a lot of the former and very little of the latter, and that’s the way I prefer it be. But I had a sinking feeling that actual parenthood (not just pregnancy) would be different. Very different.
Putting clinical postpartum depression and baby blues aside, I’ve known for a while that most women struggle, at least somewhat, with the major life changes associated with new parenthood. Lack of sleep, constant visitors (or a disappointing lack thereof), the potential challenges of breastfeeding, and physically recovering from birth all seem to set new moms up for some emotional hurdles of the kind I had never dealt with before, at least not all at the same time. I’ve suffered through school- or work-related all-nighters—once in a blue moon. I’ve dealt with both unwelcome company and uninvited solitude—but never for weeks or months on end.
So while I seemingly sailed through pregnancy, I feared that it would turn out to be an emotional cakewalk compared to becoming a new parent. Although I welcomed a few happy tears, I feared an uncontrollable deluge of waterworks or any sudden shift of my usually calm, only semi-sentimental, seas would send me reeling.
It’s probably obvious: Strong emotions make me feel vulnerable and out of control. In fact, they really scare me. Overwhelming sadness? I can’t bear the thought of it. Astounding anger? I avoid it at all costs. Gut-wrenching mom guilt? I could only imagine the acrobatics I’d perform to try to dodge that one.
Well, I became a mom a little more than three months ago and, as is the case for probably everyone, it has inevitably meant a less placid emotional life. Caring for a newborn 24 hours a day with little sleep and no time to recharge, fielding my own mother’s unsolicited advice, seeing my husband lovingly cradle his spitting-image daughter—each day has brought with it new emotional terrain that I’m wasn’t accustomed to navigating. Most recently, I found myself holding back tears while reading The Polar Express to my baby before her evening bath. I could barely make out the last page without breaking down as the narrator describes how he still holds onto the childhood magic of the sleigh bell he’s treasured for so many years.
“At one time most of my friends could hear the bell, but as years passed, it fell silent for all of them. Even Sarah found one Christmas that she could no longer hear its sweet sound. Though I’ve grown old, the bell still rings for me as it does for all who truly believe.”
Parenthood has taken me just ever so slightly beyond my emotional comfort zone. But I think that’s a good thing. Even if I still squirm at the saccharine stuff, tears are a natural part of life and I’ll have to get used to them. It’s the first thing my daughter has taught me. And I know it won’t be the last.
Whitney C. Harris is a freelance writer living in Westchester, NY. She had her first child, a daughter named Rowan, last summer. Find her at whitneycharris.com.
