This Is Motherhood by Karly Campbell, February 2008


I became a mom at the young age of 18. I had the maturity of a ten year old. And I made it work.

I had been dating my boyfriend for about a year. He was a year older than me and already graduated from high school. I was in lurve. We rarely used protection and would often talk about how it was “no big deal” if I wound up pregnant. We were so naive.
I, of course, wound up pregnant.
When I gave birth to my son I looked at him and thought, “Huh, I guess all newborns aren’t ugly.” And that was the extent of my feelings for him. He was cute. He was squishy. I didn’t immediately love him and I didn’t know what was wrong with me. Was I just too young for this motherhood business? Was I not cut out to be a mom?
We took our little baby boy, nicknamed Eeyore on my blog, home and slowly but surely I began to think of him as more than just this squishy little thing to play dress up with. Sure, he cried. Sure, he pooped. Sure, he totally ruined my plans to hang out with my friends like a normal 18 year old. You know what else he did? He changed me.

Eeyore turned me into this new person. Someone who cared about someone other than herself. Someone who would DIE for another person. Someone like…a mom.

My husband, nicknamed Cleatus on my blog, and I got married a few months after Eeyore was born. Those first couple of years were rough on me and my husband and we split up for a couple of months, but ended up working things out. Motherhood had turned me into some 40 year old woman and somehow fatherhood hadn’t changed him that much. He was a great dad, don’t get me wrong, but he didn’t give up his social life for married life. He didn’t think we had to turn into some old married couple in order to be good parents. We worked through it and are doing great now.
When Eeyore was four, I finally talked my husband into having another baby. Our daughter, Cindy-Lu, was born. She was rotten where Eeyore was sweet. She cried where Eeyore sat contentedly. She was awake where Eeyore would have slept. She was and still is a little drama queen.
I thought I had changed when Eeyore was born, but I just had to change all over again when my daughter was born. Sure, I grew up and matured when I had my son. But, it was nothing compared to the growing up that would need to be done to handle two children, one of whom was a bit difficult.
I like to think that I’ve handled it beautifully. I’ve adjusted with only minimal temper tantrums. I’ve not yet been tossed in jail for child abuse and I’ve yet to empty out the bank accounts and set off across the world. I call this success.

When Eeyore was 7 and Cindy-Lu was 2, Cleatus and I decided that we were done with having kids. I would have happily had another if Cleatus wanted more, but I knew that he was done. There would be no changing his mind and I (for once) decided to compromise with him and accept my two children and let him get his vasectomy.
I struggle with that a lot. Every month I hope that my period won’t come. Every month I talk myself into believing it is late. Every month I debate on buying a pregnancy test. And every month I get disappointed. Of course I am not pregnant. I will most likely never be pregnant again.
I’m happy with my perfect little family of four. There is still room for more in my eyes, but I think I would most likely always feel that way. Children just have a way of burrowing into your heart and you forget what little pains they are. That sweet little newborn baby smell and those wrinkly little fingers and toes and that soft, fuzzy little head just keep me wanting more. My son comforting his sister after she gets hurt keeps me wanting more. My daughter dancing along to a TV show keeps me wanting more.

Motherhood. It’s forgetting the really bad parts and hanging onto the love.
 
About the author: Karly Campbell is a homeschooling mother of two children. You can read more about their lives on her personal blog , Wiping Up Snot.  

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