The preparation begins at two pink lines.
Pregnant.
We start by making lists, registries, endless Google searches about the “best” bottles and “how to help my dog acclimate to a baby.”
We take classes on how to help them if they are choking or crying excessively or not latching.
We prepare for our sweet baby to enter the world. To be born. And loved. And handled with the utmost care.
We may begin to worry about labor and how much it will hurt. And if it will be vaginal or cesarean. We wonder about the physical recovery. Will we need frozen pads? To wear a
diaper?
I want to tell you that on the day of your baby’s entry into this world—their birth. Mama, you are born too.
You are both to be celebrated on that day. Your collective birth. As mom. And baby. As parent.
And child.
In those early hours, you, like baby, are sleepy. But euphoric. You carefully watch as the nurse washes their hair. And you ask specific questions about how to tenderly care for your newborn
baby.
You may know where I am going with this by now—we prepare for the baby to be born, but, do we prepare for the birth of the mother?
Read what I say next carefully. Maybe twice. Or three times.
Moms are born too.
Fragile and in need of care. The kind you spent nine months preparing for.
Moms need tender love and care, too. It’s their first time as a mom. Or a mom of two. Or mom of six. Every single time is a birth of both baby and mom.
Let’s love them in their early months and years of birth as if they are that tiny new baby that needs so much intentional care.
Let’s hold them close as their hormones tell them it’s too hard.
And just as we say to new babies as we rock them, let’s remind them that “it’s ok, I’m right here.”
In her battle with postpartum depression, Katie found writing as a beautiful way to cope. What started as simple notes in her phone – Katie has since found a passion in reminding moms to be gentle with themselves. She lives in the Twin Cities with her husband and two-year old son. More of her writing can be found at momsareborntoo.com.
