Justin and I knew we always wanted a child; only one, and he always dreamed of a little girl. We had been together for 10 years, married for 2, bought a home, both had good jobs and of course the questions of when we were going to have kids was asked often. In our mind we were still young; unsure if we were financially stable enough for a child, but always knew we would someday.
At some point in my pregnancy, I fell in love with my daughter. I remember being pregnant, sitting in her rocking chair, my sweet baby girl in my belly. She didn’t have a name yet, but she was my sweet, sweet girl. I remember reading her books and feeling an overwhelming amount of love for her. Tears would fill my eyes when I thought about meeting her and holding her for the first time, though in my mind, I was already her mommy.
Calling myself a "working" mama is sort of misleading. All moms are working mamas. We're always on call, working hard, and rarely (if ever) truly have days off. Perhaps instead, I should refer to myself as a "mom who works outside of the home, also". I love my job as a mom, and my work at home is never done, and doesn't help to increase the funds in my bank account every few weeks. However, you can't put a price tag on the benefits and it is, of course, profoundly rewarding.
They say that the things that matter in life are the things that you have to work for. You have to stuggle, or fail, but you're expected to get back up and keep going. But at what cost?
I was one of those naive women who assumes that breastfeeding was going to be the only option for me and my babies. After all, my mother breastfed all three of her babies. My friends breastfed. Back in 2012 when I was pregnant with my first daughter, I didn't even bother reading up on breastfeeding during pregnancy. I just assumed that things would be fine... until once during a pap and breast exam during one of my early prenatal visits, my midwife Bernie mentioned to me, "you have flat nipples, you might have trouble breastfeeding." This was the first moment I had a red flag pop up in my mind, but I brushed it off. No one talks about breastfeeding-gone-wrong. I couldn't imagine it being THAT big of a deal.
I Am Mama.
These are your sacred words. Empowering, enlightening, healing, and bringing us all together as a community of women who have transformed into "mama." It is here that we are able to modernize and preserve the art of sacred storytelling.