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You don’t hear much about how much grief is involved in motherhood. It’s a delicate balance of heart bursting pride, happiness and love and gut wrenching grief and sadness that can pop up at the most unexpected moments. It’s a back and forth pull between missing who they were and looking forward to who they will be.
Here are some of the things I grieved as a mother that I didn’t expect.
Grieving all of the versions of your baby.
The innocent perfect newborn that you held on your chest. The toothless grinning 6th month old. The wobbly toddler. The curious preschooler. The new big kid with missing teeth. The preteen, making their way into who they are becoming. The teenager. Almost independent, their own dreams and ideas. You will miss all of the versions of who they were while loving the version that makes up who they are now.
Grieving all of the versions of yourself as a mother.
Just as your kids move from version to version, so do you as a mother. The mom that just found out she was pregnant. The one that put her hand on her belly and felt that new life kick, wondering who they would become, what they would look like, filled with so much hope and anticipation.
The exhausted mom of a baby. The world gets so much smaller while love expands to depths that she never imagined.
The mom of a toddler. Always on her toes, in awe of their awe. Discovering herself as a mother while they discover the world, piece by piece.
The preschool mom. Heart bursting with pride and breaking at how fast her baby is growing up. Watching that baby walk into a new chapter with a backpack that is too big, knowing that they will be a little less hers now.
The big kid mom. Life is getting a little bit easier. They know how to keep themselves alive. They are a little more independent, but they still need their mama. They start to develop their interests and friends and this version of mama becomes more of a home base.
The preteen mom. The mom that constantly worries because she remembers how hard this phase of life was. Helping her kids navigate hard things-broken friendships, heightened emotions, guiding and loving through the hard. Finding the balance between the holding on and letting go. The heartbreak of the pulling away.
The teen mom. The version of motherhood when you start to see the fruits of your labor emerge. There is an indescribable pride watching your baby become who they are. Making decisions for themselves. The practice test before adulthood. The glimpses of the man or woman they will become.
All of these versions are hard and beautiful in their own way. You will love some and will be holding your breath until others have passed. You will miss the mother you were, while still growing into the version of motherhood that comes next.
The sadness of putting away the clothes they have outgrown.
There have been so many times I’ve had an unexpected bout of tears while folding clothes they have outgrown. It’s a physical representation of a version of you both that has passed. From onesies to big kid clothes, shoes with velcro to shoes with ties, the kid section to the juniors section. All concrete markers of growth.
When they are taller than you.
This one happens quickly. One night you go to bed and when you wake up, you realize that you have to look up at your baby. Their hands are bigger than yours. You have to reach up a little when you hug them.
The milestones.
The milestones-first giggle, first steps, first day of school, first rollercoaster, starting middle school, getting a driver’s license, prom, graduation. These are the moments that are so exciting and happy. But there’s also a tug of sadness and nostalgia because these are also the moments that mean a chapter has ended.
When you realize they don’t do that or say that thing anymore
My daughter used to call a popsicle a “pee-pockle”. My oldest used to be obsessed with trains and the world stopped if we saw one. Now trains barely get a passing dance and popsicles are popsicles. One of the small moments of grief is when you realize they don’t do that or say that thing anymore.
Grieving their innocence
Another grief that I wasn’t prepared for is the grief in beginning to lose their innocence. When they’re small, they’re protected from the evils of the world. They don’t understand heartache, death, cruelty, danger. As they grow, a little of that openness and innocence is chipped away a bit at a time. Love becomes less wide open and little more guarded, insecurities mask inhibitions, the magic fades a little.
Motherhood is a spectrum of emotions. You learn that you can feel gratitude and heartache at the exact same time. Love and fear. Joy and sadness. When you become a mom, your heart is no longer just yours. Your heart beats in their hands.
Motherhood brings a love without bounds and some heartache and grief, but it is the most important, rewarding work that you will ever do in this world. Every version is as important as the last because all of the versions of you and versions of them bring you to where you are now. There will be new versions to come: always new grief, but also new joy.
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