If you’re thinking of having kids: Don’t. That would be my immediate and prompt advice. Don’t have kids. But if you’re thinking of having them, there’s little to no chance you’ll listen to this. And I know this because, two years ago, I was that person. I was thinking of having kids. Like everybody else, I had heard these things people say about parenthood, “It’s so hard,” “We’re exhausted,” “You’ll never sleep again,” and the one that most people like to end the interaction with, “You’ll see.” I would hear these words, and I could understand them all. But I wasn’t listening.
I knew the deed had to be, probably, taken one child at a time, for biological reasons, of course. But had I been given the opportunity to hack nature’s way, I would’ve asked for three or four kids at once.
Now that I’m about to celebrate my first (and last?) son’s first birthday, I can only nod frantically, I get it, Mother Nature, this is why we humans tend to gestate one at a time, and I thank you for that.
My son is the best thing that has ever happened to me. That sentence is absolutely true. My son is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. That affirmation is also absolutely true. Now, how am I supposed to reconcile both poles of the spectrum of good/bad? This is the key to life that motherhood has taught me. And I’m here to openly talk about it.