Goodbye Rhea, Hello Mommy

People often talk about the ‘5 stages of grief’ when referring to how to cope with a loss. Often the loss of a family member or friend, a childhood pet, a marriage or even love lost. Grief is rarely considered acceptable when referenced in the loss of one’s former self, the life or person you were before this or that happened. Taboo isn’t even harsh enough of a word to use, when someone (I am someone), uses grief to describe how they feel about their pregnancy or motherhood, because who would do such a thing.

Being pregnant is in fact a gift and motherhood is a joyous experience, aside from the sleep deprivation and chapped nipples, it’s a walk in the park. I discovered that the grief I had was resting on the thin line between who I was and who I would ultimately become. Not only was I responsible for making an entire human from scratch, only edged out slightly by someone who can make flawless homemade sourdough bread. I wouldn’t even be given a superhero name or a month's paid vacation, laying on a beach beside Yahya Abdul Mateen II, and forever referred to as ‘The Goddess Queen of All Things’. I wouldn’t even have my regular name or life any more, I would only be referenced as mom, Gage’s mom, or “where’s the baby?”. Don’t get me wrong I was happy to be a mom, overjoyed actually, well after the initial 4 stages of denial and eventual acceptance. My beef wasn’t with motherhood, my qualm was with losing the woman that I was before. Would I still have access to her? Would Gage’s mom still have the same interests as Rhea? Was Rhea even capable of morphing into mommy? Would this be like an Eddie Brock and Venom situation? I don’t know, but I’m not going to lie, that grief and worry hit like a ton of bricks.

I spent most of my third trimester in the bargaining phase, primarily with God, my baby, my body and my brain. God please, pretty please, super duper please, don’t let me suck at this. I know that I am typically a walking dumpster fire of chaos and I operate just fine that way, but I need you to help me actually be the opposite of that when my human gets here. Baby, aka Gage, please like me dude. I am actually a good person, I just don’t know what the hell I am doing, but I’ve got your back and love you and will feed you regularly so, yea. Body, oh body of mine, I forsaken you for 27 years now, and I know it is a lot to ask but can you be strong enough for childbirth, but still hot enough for a bikini, thanks in advance. And finally brain, my greatest foe, can you just chill? I promise I won’t make you binge watch the entire series of Scandal again, and again, just one more time before I die, deal? And how could I forget, Rhea. Rhea, please stick around for me, I still need your wit and your spontaneity, I need your courage and individuality and I promise I won’t take you for granted ever again.

Delivery day came and the only thing that scared me more than saying goodbye to the singular me, was not being able to safely deliver a healthy human and tearing from the windows to the walls. Only one of those fears didn’t come to fruition and he’s in kindergarten now.

The entire night in labor I went through every stage of grief: Denial, that this was actually happening 5 weeks sooner than it was supposed to. Anger, this was not the plan, he needed more time to cook, I needed more time to get ready. Bargaining, God please let him be ok and I will literally do whatever you ask for the rest of my life. Bargaining, once more, with my contractions to just back the fuck off for a second. Depression, ok so I’m scared and tired and sad and hungry and crying and hot and this is bullshit. Then ultimately, acceptance, sweet beautiful, squeaky squealing, chubby cheeks of acceptance.

In those moments, I knew that if I was going to say goodbye to the old me for any reason, it would absolutely only be for this 5lb 4 oz reason. I also realized that night that motherhood didn’t necessarily have to mean the loss of myself, it meant an addition to the original version, a remodel for lack of better phrasing. I would still have my old foundation and frame, and unique markings, but with a new coat of paint. Sure it doesn’t look like the house you grew up in, even unrecognizable to some, but it was still the original at heart. I discovered how remarkable it was for motherhood to introduce me to me. I had defined who I was for so long in one way. Motherhood helped me understand that who I was and could be was whatever I determined it to be. My true self was a woman with unlimited adjectives, my true self was fearless and made an ENTIRE PERSON! My true self was and is, a badass!