I remember resenting spring for the first time in my life. Morning sickness (aka progesterone takeover) surprised me. A simple newb.
Looking back, I would've eaten more. And earlier, denser, protein, grass-fed—you get it. I would've written about being pregnant for the first time. But as the radishes leafed out and the red currants flowered, I wondered why the hell any form of life, let alone a human being baby, would require terrible nausea to be born.
There's something powerful about being new to something—about a beginner's mind. I resisted it for so long; still do, sometimes. But to feel inept, to fear failure, is pretty much prerequisite to any level of mastery. Take sewing, for example.
I'm still far away from mastering sewing. The more I do it, though, the more I learn to press on (literally) through the inner narration—"Yikesthatlooksbadohmanterrible"—the less affected I am by doubt. I finally remember that tough bobbin issue, that bend in the needle: once I pass a certain point, I know the road will get smoother. And the more I keep it a simple sewing project, like an easy cafe curtain. Most importantly, I've learned to put any hyper-awareness into focus and enjoyment of the task at hand.
Even if it does, indeed, look better with a cat in front of it.
Much like first-time parenting. Put a cat in front of it. A big, fat, howling cat who loves to sneak into your room while the baby sleeps.
What a first year. Instead of appreciating the newness, the facts of life growing in front of me, I worried about my shortcomings. My baby was very small (still is, like her sister, like me and my sister...ooo). Doctor appointments felt like I was getting graded based on her size. I wondered if I wasn't meant do it. What if my daughter needed more than what I could be to her?
Naturally and gratefully, she does. Three years and a sister later, she's thriving. And I'm learning to enjoy keeping my kids alive and well. That's the goal here. And when that interior monologue tries to override my confidence—or a certain toddler collides with another, when crash-bang-bash ensue—then I