I’ve discovered a new phenomenon: when you announce to the world that you’re pregnant, people automatically start calling you “Mama“.
“Hey, mama!” “How are you feeling, mama?” “Aww, mama, look at your belly! When are you due?” “So excited for you, mama!”
My first “mama” took me completely off guard. I did not feel ready nor worthy enough to be bestowed with the title. Apparently, the second you pee on a stick and see a two lines, you are automatically anointed with the title of Parent.
The word Mama carries a lot of weight. It implies nurturing, preparedness, a new level of adulthood. I can tell you quite honestly that in most moments, even fifteen weeks in to my current status of pregnancy, I do not feel any of those things.
I’ll tell you what I do feel.
Fearful of the unknown.
Is this baby really going to get here? Am I sure this is actually happening? Is this all going to work out? Am I going to be a good mom?
I’ve had so many people tell me I’m going to make a good mom. It’s sweet, and well-intentioned, and often reassuring. Because I am not entirely convinced, even after all of the struggle to get here, that I will be. I’m selfish, I’m messy, I’m entirely focused on myself much of the time, and I have literally no idea how I am going to react when a tiny human is completely reliant on me for her survival.
I know that many parents and parents-to-be face a similar struggle. With infertility, the path to parenthood is often laced with additional fear and self doubt. I am no stranger to that.
I’m doing my best to embrace the Mama in me. I may not know how I’m going to survive on few hours of sleep and midnight diaper changes, but one thing is without a doubt: I do love that tiny human inside of me before she’s even been born. And that’s a start.