A long post about changes in motherhood

I have spent most of the last six years in the company of babies, toddlers, preschoolers and, just recently, a kindergartner and his friends. Also, many moms of these children. These moms are around my age–within five years in most cases. Some work full time, most work part time, like me. Some have one child, some have two, a few have three. All are women who put their children first, as I do. Some are single, some are married. Some spend time exercising or writing or going to knitting clubs or book groups. Some are even able to do the grocery shopping alone. But most of them have a child with them for most hours of the day and have to consider this when doing any errand or accomplishing any task, from peeing (alone) to making dinner to planning (the dreaded) birthday party.

But. Now I am coming out of the baby stage of motherhood. I have had my last baby. And my first is in school. The days are changing. The schedule is not mine to make anymore. The kids don’t need me every second of the day. Two of them have school friends and are even trying with some success to make their own playdates. I am not extracting breastmilk at work anymore. I have a tiny bit of time to myself. So, I decided that in addition to swimming to get my doughy middle and other muscle groups back into shape I would sign up for a pilates class. And, let me tell you, it’s awesome. It’s difficult. And intimidating at times. It’s in the middle of the work day and sometimes I don’t want to go because I’m in the rhythm of something else or I don’t want to change my clothes. I’m sure when the weather turns frigid and the snow accumulates I won’t want to walk across the street to the studio. But, I do. I will. The class is whipping me into shape. My body is satisfyingly sore. Productively sore. My back doesn’t hurt from lifting the baby to my hip. It hurts from the work I am doing to make it sore, and to make it stronger. It turns out, I’m not too old for such activities.

In fact, I’m one of the younger women in the class, or at least that appears to be the case. The women—and they are all women—who are in my class all are affiliated with the institution for which I work. Some are employees or retired employees or wives or partners of employees. And many are older than me. And I find myself wondering about these women. I look at them as we warm up and stretch together. I observe how some have abdominal muscles much stronger than mine and admire the beautiful long, grey hair and delicate features encased in deep wrinkles that accompany such strength and control. I wonder about these women. Who they are. Why they are here in the middle of the day twice a week. I look at their toenails, their choices of workout gear, even the color of their yoga mats. I wonder many things. And what I wonder most is if they are mothers. I wonder about their children. About the much older women I wonder about their independence from the daily chores of motherhood now. I wonder if they are in touch with their children. I wonder what their regrets are.

It has been a very long time since I have spent so much time thinking outside of my family. The time I’ve been taking for myself—rowing in the mornings, writing for the blog, swimming and now taking pilates—has led to more time. I’ve been reading more and picking up fewer messes around the house. I’ve been spending less time with other mothers like me. but I am not spending any less time thinking about mothering. I’ve just changed my focus. My questions aren’t about tactics for sleep training or at what age I should start potty training. I’m not worried about my son’s anxieties lasting for the rest of his life. They might, it’s true, but I spend more time thinking about him growing up. How he will always be the big brother. And how my role as a mother will change, already is changing. I think about being there for my children. Through the entirety of their childhoods and into their adult lives. I’m still living day by day, out of necessity and out of a desire to be present in the every day details. But I have a new, very real appreciation for how fast it all goes. I already am one of those women who can observe to other young moms that they should enjoy the time they have with their babies. That soon they will be all grown up. Soon, my role as mommy won’t be to tie shoes and scoop food into my children’s mouths. It will be to listen more than to talk. And sometimes it will be to step back.

Having had my third baby and living knowing that she is the last, I am in the process of growing out of new mommyhood. It is a sad and a liberating place to be. I feel myself coming back a little bit. Not just in the time I have to exercise, but in the creativity of my brain. In the energy for my own work. In the desire for my partner. I am content. We are a family. Complete. There is no more question of when or if to have another one. And with such a big question gone, the other questions are taking care of themselves much of the time.

I have much to learn, for sure. But the learning isn’t coming from sitting and observing my kids and their peers while making small talk with other mothers. Not anymore. Now that I’m not living every second of the day for the immediate needs of my children, my own learning is more self-reflective. And, ironically, more sought out. It is a more intellectual process, not a knee-jerk reaction to many, many sleepless nights (even though there are still many, many sleepless nights in our house). I’ve found that the pre-mother in me still exists, physically and mentally, and I know that my whole family is benefiting from her return.