Raw Thoughts on Motherhood (Hastily compiled in the rare and blessed moments when my son was asleep)

I often replay in my mind the transcendent moment when the miracle of new life was complete and I saw my tiny son for the first time. Despite the nine months of pregnancy and the thirty hours of labor, my little one’s advent into the world seemed so sudden; I could hardly believe that the tiny, wrinkly, red, nuzzling creature had already arrived. My life changed forever in that sacred moment as the nurses passed little Joseph into my trembling, inexperienced, but loving arms. Bryce and I stared at the small human I was cuddling, then at each other, then again at our new charge, our eyes filled with tears of wonder and joy. We couldn’t fully comprehend in that instant how precious our little son was, nor what it meant to become parents, but we sensed some of the deep solemnity of the occasion as heaven reached down and touched our family. I was now forever bound to this tiny human who would be completely dependent upon me for years of his mortal existence. My life was no longer my own. My time was no longer my own. Everything now suddenly belonged to him. To my tiny son. To this sweet heavenly gift. I had become a mother.

In the four months since that holy day, I have grown in my understanding of motherhood. For me, my journey into motherhood has been much like embarking on a mission or marriage or grad school—for all that I had known and observed of it in my life prior, I definitely never comprehended it until I found myself living it. I’ve heard countless birth stories, innumerable humorous anecdotes of toddlers and babies, and thousands of bits of mothering advice. But I never truly understood it. I didn’t understand what it meant to feel tiny feet kicking inside your abdomen. I didn’t understand the joy that would come the first time I held my sweet baby. I didn’t understand the gnawing fear of anything bad ever happening to him. I didn’t understand the frustration of not being able to get a full night’s sleep for months on end. I didn’t understand the joy that would come from being the whole world to a tiny human.

Bryce and I are convinced that we have the cutest baby in the world. Perhaps we’re biased, but I’m nonetheless positive it is true. Sometimes I just find myself staring in awe at the tiny miracle that has graced our lives, amazed that something so perfect is now part of my daily existence. This little being had never been in the world before. And suddenly here he is, complete with a tiny body destined to grow and mature throughout his life. I am in awe of his tiny hands and feet, miniatures of my own; of his big blue eyes that love to take in the world around him; of his little arms and legs that move with growing dexterity. His smiles, giggles, and coos have become my favorite things. I can’t explain how a simple toothless grin from Joseph can transform my whole perspective on life, but as soon as I see joy radiating from his perfect face, my heart lightens and everything seems right in the world. It has been a beautiful miracle to watch that tiny, wriggly newborn transform into an infant who recognizes my voice and face. I remember the first time he responded to a game I played with him—I was floored that he could learn and remember. He was becoming a cognizant human! And while my little one has been developing new cognitive and motor skills, I have been growing in my own understanding and application of the sacred role of mother.

My transition into motherhood has been a profoundly sweet and sacred experience. As any mother will tell you, however, it is definitely not the easiest thing in the world. Raging hormones and sleep deprivation are the perfect combination for intense emotional struggles in the early weeks and months of motherhood. Diaper blow-outs, mounds of laundry, a new schedule, and learning to decipher a whole host of different cries each present their own unique challenges. But I think the hardest part for me about becoming a mother has been sleep. I mean, it is one thing to intellectually know that you will have to wake up several times a night to feed a crying infant, but it is another thing to actually climb out of your warm bed night feeding after night feeding, slowing accumulating a sleep debt you will probably never repay until you join the generations of your deceased great-grandmothers in final rest. As Bryce can attest, I have become a little bit obsessed with sleep, reading books and countless articles on baby sleep, conferring with many other mothers to try to figure out how to make our little one sleep. Some parents are blessed with perfectly little sleepers who take long naps, and sleep for long stretches of time at night. But we definitely didn’t win the sleep jackpot this time around. Our tiny man is in love with his half-hour naps (which, believe me, makes it incredibly difficult to accomplish anything during the day), and still usually wakes up at least three times a night. For someone who historically has required her eight hours of sleep each night to feel healthy, such a sacrifice of sleep is a struggle for me, but also a testament of the divine love God infuses into mothers so they can accomplish formerly impossible tasks. But still. I am quite looking forward to the time when little man will consistently sleep for at least four hours at a time.

Even as I am writing this, Joseph keeps waking up and calling for me to come put him back to bed. There is something gratifying about seeing your son become instantly calm and fall asleep as soon as you scoop him up from the crib. And for all that I miss sleeping through the night, I remind myself that Joseph’s night needs are endearing. Because someday this will end. Someday my little baby will sleep through the night. Someday he will have problems and pains that can’t be solved by something so simple as my touch. But for now. For now I will enjoy the sweetness of him finding complete comfort in my arms.

Something changes in the way you think when you become a parent. I had been told this before Joseph was born, and I found the research on the rewiring of the brain to provide for the infant’s survival fascinating. But then Joseph was born and I realized it was actually true. You are never able to fully relax as a parent of an infant. When Joseph is awake, it is impossible for me to more than superficially engage in any intellectual activity. I have to be ready at a moment’s notice to calm him if he begins crying, to pick him up from a swing or seat, or to bounce him in my arms if he is becoming squirmy. He’s a smart little guy and can tell when I’m only giving him divided attention, at which point he starts fussing until the computer or phone takes its rightful place as secondary to him. When he’s asleep I am able to give slightly more attention to intellectual endeavors. But even then my ears are straining to hear noises from the other room, knowing that my little one will soon be awake and calling for me. (This all serves to explain my professor’s comment on my final paper last semester that he could tell I had written it while “pressed for time.” Yep. Never been so pressed for time in my whole life as when my infant has been taking just short naps and calling for me when he’s awake. But don’t worry—I still got an A on the paper. Tender mercies.) Thankfully, along with this rewiring of my brain has come a new understanding of the role that education plays in my life. Suddenly papers, tests, and classes no longer seem as important. My primary responsibility is as a mother, and any academic responsibilities are only of marginal importance.

Before Joseph was born, Bryce and I fervently and frequently prayed for help in becoming the parents God needed us to be for our child. I meant those prayers. But I don’t think I understood them. I understood that I would need help as I embarked on the mystery of parenthood. But I did not comprehend how desperately I would need that help. And I imagine that this need will only grow with my child and as more children enter our family. Over the past four months, Bryce and I have felt those prayers abundantly answered. We have received revelation on how to comfort our crying child, how to decipher his needs, how to play with him, and how to grow in patience. Most importantly, we have felt a divine outpouring of God’s love fill our souls. I have watched as my capacity to love and sacrifice has increased manifold. I did not know that I could love this deeply. And I have grown not just in love for my son—I have felt my love for my husband increase as we have united our efforts to raise this heavenly gift. We have become a companionship focused on nurturing a child. It reminds me of my mission when my mission president reminded us that everything we did was for our friends with whom we were sharing the gospel—we brushed our teeth for them, we tied our shoes for them, we studied and exercised and ate so as to most effectively serve them. So it is with our child. Our prayers revolve around Joseph. My thoughts are focused on him. I eat both to literally feed him and to gain the energy I need to minister to him all hours of the day. I am coming to understand that parenthood done right is one of the purest forms of sacrifice a mortal can make. And I aspire to that.

I often look deep into the eyes of the one who was hand-picked by God to make his debut in my family and marvel at the miracle of a new life. A new life eternally bound to me and Bryce. A tiny personage who will never stop existing and who will never stop being my son. It is beautifully overwhelming how eternity shifted on that sweet September morning when little Joseph came to earth. Nothing would ever be the same. Not for him. Not for me. Not for Bryce. A new era in our lives had begun. These beautiful past four months are merely the sacred beginning of eternal parenthood.