Impending Mamahood


Impending Mamahood

A year ago, I would’ve choked at the thought of having a baby before buying a house, establishing a brick and mortar hideaway for my web design biz, and getting a bit more travel under my belt. A year ago, I was struggling to make a living.

Given, I was a very, very different person even a year ago. My priorities were ego-centric, driven by ambition and a need to positively contribute to the life I was creating with The Husband (otherwise known as Tall Blonde Guy and, y’know, Mike).

A number of years ago, the thought of having children terrified me. Paralyzed me. It made having any sort of normal sex life virtually impossible. An allergy to latex coupled with an aversion to birth control pills? Fuhgeddaboudit, sexy-time. This just got far more complicated than it needed to be. Sadly, it stayed madly complicated far longer than it should have.

All the while I was wrapped up in my own hangups, Mike had always wanted to be a dad.

It was one of those things that he knew. Both of his sisters had children by the time we were married in 2008. And as the eldest of four, it was a source of frustration for him. The wedding cupcakes were barely in the fridge before we talked about babies. It became a conversation that extended to include various people with the same sentiment of “When are you two going to have babies?”

It became an expectation that hung like a precarious dagger over my head.

Still, I’d always planned on being a mama.

Y’know, at some point.

Forty-eight hours into my twenty-fourth year brought a game-changing epiphany to my original state-of-mind (and the terror that clasped its nasty little claws around my libido). What if, just for this once, I made peace with the idea of having kids before everything was perfect? What if I allowed myself to be a little scared without letting it take control? What if I do what my tattoo says and Just Breathe? Because, just as with creative pursuits, baby-having is never something that’s convenient.

And so, I did. I relaxed. I enjoyed myself. I loved without reserve. It was a Big Moment before the Little Stick.

Living a life of convenience is ultimately conforming to the rules of the reality that the masses buy into. There’s nothing personal, joyful, or authentic to living life by everyone else’s rules. It’s certainly not the kind of lifestyle that I’d like to share with Mystery Baby when s/he arrives in June. I want our little family (and my little biznez) to evolve from a place of honesty and happiness. And while grappling with my own impending mamahood, there’s the question of, “How the in the hell can I make the rest of my life work?” Seeing as I’ve been in the throws of my Quarter-Life Crisis for the better part of four years, I not only have to find a way to define what that looks like but I have to wrangle it to fit.

The only way I can possibly accomplish all of this madness is to create some accountability between me, you, and something resembling a handful of goals.

I, Amanda, hereby resolve myself to:

  1. Immerse myself in Nesting without succumbing to outside expectations of what a nursery and/or home should be. I plan on doing this by indulging in literature on creating a happy, healthy nursery while breaking all the rules of genderization.
  2. Get my biz to a place where I can hand over the keys to the kingdom to a team for a few months while I adjust to being a new mama. How? Affluence and influence, baby.
  3. Give myself permission to fail. Often. Ain’t no shame in falling as long as there’s a getting up.

over the next six months.

Lock ‘n load, lovelies. This is gonna be a bumpy ride. But hey, that’s why we’re all here.

[Note from Coach Molly: And I, Molly, hereby resolve myself to supporting you, Amanda, with your sweet handful of goals as your prepare for life and business with a new tiny person.  Through failure and success, through learning and casting aside genderization, through being YOU and rediscovering what that may mean in this new life step. Sounds like we’re taking vows….  OX]

Image by wilderdom.

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