When I became a mother, my world fell apart.
I was home from the hospital for a mere number of hours and opened the the fridge, (because holy hell I hadn’t eaten in 2 days), and immediately, with the intensity of the greatest of drama queens, burst into sobbing, hiccuping, earth shattering tears.
Because there was food in the fridge.
I was crying at my food. (This was the first of many nonsensical sobbing sessions, but it was the one that has stuck with me the most.)
Somehow, in this snapshot of milk and cheese, my entire “old” life sat staring at me, taunting me. “Lookie here, all this stuff you bought when you were just you. When you and your husband were sleeping and being spontaneous, hiking and biking and going out to expensive restaurants. When you were happy.”
I slammed the fridge door, listened to all of the condiments jingle against each other, and cried.
I wouldn’t eat the food, nor let my husband throw anything away. For weeks we had a fridge full of rotting food. Full of my old life, rotting away. I think my husband finally started sneaking things out when I wasn’t paying attention or too tired to care, because somehow we ended up with a clean fridge again.
7 months out, I am still filling that void, piecing together the remnants of an old life with this new, groggy life of extreme joy – and sometimes, debilitating sorrow.
I am a mommy. ish. ly. And it’s fantastic. And it’s hard. And it’s… full of “ish” and full of “ly”. Full of approximation, almost-but-not-quites. It’s full of anxiety, while simultaneously deciding to throw caution to the wind.
Doing my best to take care of her. And me. And him and us.
(It might also be full of swear words and sarcasm. And wine.)
Welcome to Mommyishly.