A year and change ago, I gave birth to my son Jude.
I’ve never wanted the role of “mother” to be the singular one that defines me. Yet I can’t contain motherhood in a box; it touches (changes?) everything.
Here are 13 lessons I’ve picked up from the first year of mothering — many of them centering on this tension.
Pause, even (especially!) when you don’t have the time.
The end of Jude’s first month felt like an enormous milestone. We’d made it — still standing, mostly — through a storm that swept its way through our home, bringing with it sleepless nights, insane hormones, and an extremely hungry little thing.
I pulled out my journal and wrote “Jude at 1 month!” followed by a handful of details both mundane and monumental:
Lots of naps — on Mom and Dad, in the dock-a-tot, car, and stroller, not so often in the bassinet or crib.
Loves being held by anybody and everybody, including friends, nurses, and our pediatrician.
Has figured out Mom’s voice means, “Woo! It’s time to eat!”
These notes have become a monthly practice — a way of slowing down the passage of time.
Map your own milestones.
When I finish documenting Jude’s milestones, I write about myself.
The first time, it felt almost radical to ask myself, “Who am I at month one of motherhood?” Since we’d brought Jude home from the hospital, I’d focused all of my mental and physical energy mothering.
A mother’s growth and change is rarely as obvious, or feels as important, as that of a child who goes from hardly making eye contact to scaling a coffee table.
But over time my perception of self and identity has shifted, much like my relationships to others. I proudly refer to myself as “mom” and seek out new relationships with other mothers; my body is different, but I look in the mirror and I feel strong again; Sam and I are steadily learning how to communicate with each other while raising a child.
The first time, it felt almost radical to ask myself, “Who am I at month one of motherhood?”
Nothing you are thinking or feeling is original. That’s why you should talk about it.
I’m often scared that my thoughts and ideas are not “smart” or “original” enough — especially when it comes to parenthood. Like I should be able to figure it out on my own, or my contributions to the conversation are holding us back; chances are that somebody else already wrote it or said it more eloquently than I could. I get embarrassed before the words have even come out.
has helped me address that fear head on.I’m so grateful when I do reach out to others — both in real life, and through the newsletter. During the earliest days of motherhood, I learned about a miracle prescription nipple ointment1 because I finally picked up the phone and called my cousin for nursing advice and validation. More recently, I had moms reach out to me — inspired by this article — about their own c-section recoveries that didn’t go as swimmingly as they’d anticipated.
An interesting conversation can start with a simple question.
I’ve quickly picked up “How old is yours?” is the “this weather, huh?” equivalent for parents.
And that’s okay! Once you’re chatting, you can take the conversation in more interesting directions — like travel hacks or even… nipple ointment.
I’ve quickly picked up “How old is yours?” is the “this weather, huh?” equivalent for parents.
Shitty balloons are still balloons.
Each birthday eve, my dad would fill my door frame with balloons so they’d flood into my room when I got up the next morning.
The night before Jude’s first birthday, I insisted Sam drive to Star Market at 10 PM so Jude would have balloons to greet him at his bedroom door. When he returned twenty minutes later with a half-deflated bunch, including a “Thanks for all you do!” balloon, I tried not to act upset.
“I swear, it’s the best I could find,” he said.
“It’s fine,” I said. “They’re perfect!”
And they were perfect. When we walked into Jude’s room singing happy birthday to you! the next morning, he stared in disbelief and mild confusion, eventually reaching out and revealing a giant grin.
It’s a tiny memory I’ll treasure. Shitty balloons can still make for a very special morning.2
You have cheerleaders!
“Jude has such a long day at daycare,” I said, staring ahead at the road. “I feel bad that I’m not able to pick him up early.”
My mom turned in her seat to face me.
“What are you talking about?”
“Is it too long??” Jude had been in daycare since he was four months old.
“He’s learning, he’s playing, he’s growing,” She reassured me. “You have nothing to feel bad about.”
I know this. I see how he lights up when his teachers reach out to pull him in for a hug in the mornings, how good it feels for me to get time in a quiet house. But motherhood — being a woman — comes with constant second-guessing.
I let the thought go. When we’re feeling insecure, it can feel like cheating to reach out for validation, for a “cheer” — but sometimes that’s all we need.
Good walking shoes are underrated.
After the top of my foot began (and wouldn’t stop) pulsing with pain a few weeks ago, I bought new walking shoes. Purple walking shoes. The particular shade of violet — the only color the store carried in my size — and the supportive sole design together have really cemented every outfit I put on as “comfort first.”
But since I’ve realized it’s hard enough to get a weather-appropriate baby out the door, and the foot pain abated within days of this purchase, I’ve cut myself some slack. I’m leaning into my “mom jeans and good walking shoes” era, and I’m feeling more like myself than ever.
You know the Adam Sandler memes that have been circulating for a few months? That’s the vibe.
Just ask for help.
I’m chronically bad at this. But the relentless and often unabated demands of parenthood have forced me to practice — asking friends and family to babysit, come over to walk the dog, or meet up with me at a time that accommodates Jude’s bedtime.
My best friend Margie, who is the youngest of six kids, is excellent at asking for help. In high school, that meant catching rides home from neighbors after track practice or bringing extra Oreos for lunch so that she’d have a bargaining chip for trading with others. More recently, she asked our friend Henry to help her scour Facebook marketplace for her living room redesign (the result belongs on Apartment Therapy!)
In drawing out the generosity of others — which she never fails to return — Marge actually fosters connection.
I’ll return the favor soon. In the meantime, want to come over?
This goes for asking for help from your partner, too.
Taking turns doesn’t just happen.
Exhausted by constantly negotiating who was going to take the laundry downstairs or clear out the dishes in the sink before bed, Sam and I decided to “assign ourselves chores.” Since then, he’s on dishes, I’m on laundry. Neither one is particularly fun or quick or difficult, but they both get done. And the most beautiful part is we don’t have to talk about it anymore.
Taking turns doesn’t just happen.
Most of the responsibilities of caring for Jude are more fluid. When I’m home, I jump right in: heating up his dinner, tidying up the toy bins, or wrestling him into his pajamas. I do it because it has to get done, and, most days, I love it.
But when I need a break, it requires physical space — a yoga class, a night out to dinner with friends, or a walk around the block.
writes about the difficulty of finding “quality” leisure in female-coded or dominated hobbies, regardless of whether or not someone is a parent or not. Without space, I know I’ll jump back into the bath time routine, fully suppressing the need to give myself a “night off.”Rewatch movies from your childhood.
Especially the ones about parenthood.
When Sam and I find ourselves stuck in an endless scroll through Netflix (which happens… too often), we can almost always agree on an option with 80s/90s childhood nostalgia: Parenthood, Mrs. Doubtfire, The Parent Trap, or even Friday Night Lights.
These days, Steve Martin and Robin Williams feel more like friends and less like father figures. I can’t wait to watch these movies with Jude.
These days, Steve Martin and Robin Williams feel more like friends and less like father figures.
The days feel longer when you close your laptop at 5 PM.
When I was in my twenties, I rode my bike to work almost every day. I loved how the time on my bike forced me to take a break, creating a physical separation from work — no phone, no laptop. Even if I’d stayed at the office late into the evening.
I wish I’d been more comfortable closing my laptop at 5 PM before I had a kid.
Now, on the days that I pick up Jude from daycare, I don’t have an option; no later than 4:50 PM, I shut the computer and jump in my car. As difficult as those final hours before his bedtime can be (tired kid!), or as much as I’d like to fire off just one more email, I love how that time stretches out the day and takes my mind out of work.
It will be okay if you have to cancel plans.
There are many, many fair reasons to change or call off plans — but when those plans are ones you’ve been counting on, it can feel soul-crushing.
Last summer, Sam got COVID (again).
“I know I’ll be okay and my life isn’t really over,” I sobbed to my sister after I canceled our baby shower, “but right now, it feels over.”
Given the anticipation of new motherhood, and the changes it would bring, I wanted one more shot at normalcy, one more celebration without the responsibility of a parent.
But life does go on.
The friends and family who care about you will continue to show up — even if it takes weeks or even months to get your next event on the calendar.
Which leads me to…
You’re still you.
It is so easy to lose ourselves in motherhood, to trick ourselves into forgetting what matters outside of our role as mother. As
of writes, “Motherhood toppled me. Upended everything about my life. My life became unrecognizable to me.”Last week, Sam and I got tickets to meet friends at a Tuesday night concert.
It required more preparation than nights of the past; most importantly, we had to find a babysitter who would stay up past 11 PM on a weeknight (which, fairly, ruled out some of our typical contenders). Just getting out the door after dark was a palpable mental hurdle.
But as we drank beers, laughed with friends, and danced together in the crowd, I was so glad we’d made the effort. We were still us.
Before you go: I loved that the most-clicked link from Monday’s newsletter was this poem Aja shared by
called A list of things I say to people I love. I’ve been especially trying to use “I’m so proud of you.”Did this ring true? What else do you say to the people you love?
Platonic Love is a reader-supported and affiliate-free publication. Thanks for coming back again and again, and helping us to build this community. We’ll be back on Monday with the links we sent our friends. Love, Aliza
In case you’re looking, it’s called All Purpose Nipple Ointment. Just ask your OB-GYN for a prescription.
This week, we had balloons in our apartment again for my birthday. Jude has started affectionately referring to them as “boons.” (Aja: I am obsessed with your kid.)
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This is *such* an amazing letter. The idea of "mapping your own milestones" is revelatory, and I snort-laughed at the "Thanks For All You Do!" balloon.
I know that other moms will benefit from your words, but even as a non-mom, there's so much here that resonated with me: dealing with the relentlessness of change, coming to terms with getting older (and accepting ugly-but-comfy walking shoes!), trying to hold on to the person you used to be. So good. 🔥