This post was written May 15th, 2021, just a few weeks before Roux arrived. I was too scared to post this for fear of making my true feelings known – to sit in judgement by others. I publish this as a testament to the feelings once had, and evidence that as it turns out, I’ve never loved anything more than being a mother.

This is a conversation that is most likely better left for a chaise lounge in an air conditioned office with a licensed therapist. But since I can’t seem to find the time and writing on here has always been the most cathartic experience for my soul, I hope that anyone who reads this and never felt themselves up to the task of motherhood feels a little less alone; a little less hidden and a little more seen.

(For the record – this is not meant to be disrespectful to those who are trying desperately to start their family, or those mothers who have dreamed of this role their entire life. I can only speak of my own experience and relay the emotions and feelings that have been part of my story)

For starters – I’m not ANTI-mother, though I’ve tended to respond in that way when people ask about my maternity photos, whether or not the crib is together or if I’ve had my baby shower yet. “Nope, nope, and nope – I guess I’m just an anti-mother”. But I’m not. I am pro-mother. I know dozens of great ones, and I’m proud to say that my own personal experience with my own mother and mother figures have blown others out of the water. I know how lucky I am, and my mother has meant more to me than she could possibly understand. I am indeed very pro-mother.

But I wasn’t born to be one. And not everyone is.

As I’ve said before, when I re-met Scott, I was post-divorce and as jaded and cynical as any human could be. I warned him on our first date that if he had any future aspirations of marriage or fatherhood he best keep on walking. No hard feelings, no ill will. Just move on. He didn’t budge, which either proves his stupidity or justifies his eternal optimism that life works out if we read the signs. Right now I would have a ring on my finger if it weren’t for the 1000 degree swelling and our son is doing his midday calisthenics on my organs as I try to type, making it very hard to concentrate. So Scott wins and yes, my love – you were right.

I’m not sure why I grew up an unnatural mother, or atleast feel that I am one. I loved my dogs like they were pseudo children, my niece and nephews have truly stolen my heart, and I’m a TEACHER. Evidence that young souls do not disenchant me. So why can’t I picture myself a mother?

Some women just don’t and it’s hard to articulate the fear and overwhelming anxiety that every part of this process has given me. I am a chronicler of life, documenting in photos and writing every piece of our story. But pregnancy has taken my words from me, and the only photos I have of the past 10 months are the ones Scott has begged me to take for the sake of our future son. I rebelled against a baby shower (too much attention and too much anxiety) and though Scott and I have been photographed more than any other couple I know, the idea of maternity photos sent me into a downward spiral. It’s almost if I didn’t acknowledge the experience, it wasn’t really happening….

But here I am. Two weeks away from his due date and I’m trying to justify to everyone who asks why his crib is still in pieces and my bag has not been fully packed for the past month. His clothes are not washed yet, there is no diaper station, and don’t even ask me what he is wearing home from the hospital because I don’t have a flippin clue. I am wildly unprepared and I am the most Type A person when it comes to events of this nature.

I sat in the doctor’s office last week, waiting to be seen, tears welling and heart rate rising. I don’t regret this decision, and I know that Scott is going to be the best dad in the entire world. But that doesn’t make an un-mother feel any more like a mother, and I know this is only the beginning of many un-mothering moments in the future.

For those of you who are deliberating motherhood or have made the decision it is not for you – I get it and feel that in my soul. And just because I am here at this moment does not mean I have magically seen the light, or that the anxiety was replaced by pure joy as weeks turned into months. I will say that there have been moments of contentment that I did not expect – seeing him on the first ultrasound, feeling the little rolls and wiggles and breathing a sigh of relief that he is ok. I am hopeful that even though this was not the course I expected to take, that the un-mother in me will rise to the occasion when we meet him and this is the start of the best adventure of our life.

This post is truly meant to chronicle a time in my life when my fears of motherhood were real. Having Roux changed everything about the way I think, the priorities in my life, and just how incredible it is to raise a boy to be a good man. The responsibility no longer terrifies me – it excites me. I still stand by all the women who feel that they are not meant to have children, and I would never be that person who urges someone who has made that decision to think otherwise. But if you are sitting out there reading this, wondering, sitting on the fence of motherhood, pondering if you could love your life so attached to someone else – then yes. Please do it. And if you know it is not for you, I’ll champion that decision until I’m blue in the face. To all the mothers, un-mothers, and those who are trying to be a mother – keep on keeping on, ladies. We’ve got this.