Be Honest With Yourself

I never saw myself as a mother growing up. My motherly instincts kicked in when my first niece was born; it was the first time I felt I loved someone more than myself. But being an auntie is easy. I was 32 years old, but I still didn’t see myself being someone’s mum. 

I always thought wanting to be a mum was an urge or desire that women had at some point in their lives. I was waiting for mine to come after getting married, but it never did. 

I wanted to have kids, but it was never a dream. It was just something I thought I was expected to do, imprinted in my brain either by society, my catholic education, or my traditional family — I don’t really know.

When I found out I was pregnant two years after tying the knot, I was surprised to say the least. And scared. Scared of what was to come, knowing in my heart that I was not ready, and at 35 — I wasn’t ever going to be. 

Instead of something romantic and sweet, making the decision of having a baby was more of a rational thing. I thought it was the next step. What was expected of me. What needed to be done.

Being pregnant felt more like being perpetually ill. It felt like a sickness; it was not enjoyable at all and I was miserable the whole time. Every month, there was something different that was wrong and I thought it was never going to end. From morning sickness (that hits you every damn hour of the day) to hemorroides, to UTIs, to heartburn. I could barely sleep. But the worst was still to come. 

Nobody really tells you how childbirth really feels. Every contraction feels like 10 men are kicking you on your stomach. Then when they get harder and you start pushing uncontrollably, it feels like you are about to push out a watermelon. And when you finally have the baby, it actually feels like you pushed out a watermelon. If you’re lucky, your vagina will be intact when it is all said and done, but for most of us that is not the case. My vagina was completely destroyed. I tore in multiple places even after having the episiotomy (a cut they make to prevent tearing, go figure). So, healing was extremely painful; peeing was excruciating and pooing...well, it felt like childbirth all over again.  

When you think it is all finally over, you have to wake up every two or three hours for months to feed the baby. 

You will never sleep all night again. 

If I could go back in time and talk to my younger self, I would definitely say: “You don’t really want kids, face it. Be honest with your partner, but most importantly with yourself.” Because right now, I regret being a mother. 

Don’t get me wrong, I love my child and I would die for them. But if I could change the past, I would change this. I hate being in this position. I hate motherhood.