Motherhood

I still find it strange, sometimes, that I’m a mom. I mean, it’s not strange to take care of Milo or feed her or love her. It’s strange that I grew this girl and birthed her and now she’s here. It’s strange when I hear someone say the word “mom” when referencing me. You know, like “Go to mama” or “Mom’s right here.” It makes me want to do one of those “Who, me?” double-takes. I’m someone’s mom? Really? And every day Milo reminds me that yes, I’m a mom. She does this when she calms down after I pick her up, or when she sleeps so well on my chest, or when she feeds so well at my breast. It’s not often that we can say our identity has been altered in some major way. But mine has recently. I’m someone’s mom. I’m Milo’s mom. I’m going to do my best not to let this new part of my identity take over me, as some mom’s tend to do. I’m still Misty, but now I’m Milo’s mom, too.

Things that have changed since I became a mother: