Rebecca Shamblin

I thought that being a stay-at-home mom would mean that I wasn't beholden to schedules, and ‘getting out the door on time’ and other constraints that would make me rush my exploring toddler. My child would always be granted the time to pause and learn about her environment. I would let her move on her own schedule – you know, in between all-organic snacks and Montessori activities.

This week I started my home-yoga routine . . .accompanied by my 20-month-old. I am starting to see why there are no “Mommy and Me Toddler Yoga” classes on the calendar.

I always secretly hoped that having a child would transform me into a more responsible person. I would be a mother! Mothers have excellent dental hygiene, and eat plenty of fruits and vegetables. Sure, I sucked at all that stuff before, but once I had a baby, things would get on track. I would set a good example for my child.

I’ve wanted to be a mother my entire life, but always worried about my heart condition and whether I would be able to conceive. Finally, my chance was right in front of me. Finally, I had a real reason to lose weight. This wasn’t about the size label on my pants, or how I felt in a bathing suit. This was about the chance to create life.

“Definitely don’t be afraid to use a nipple shield,” I told a woman the other day. “Cracked nipples are the worst, let me tell you!”

It’s amazing how easy it is to forget about one of the most intense experiences of my life. Sometimes when someone asks about my scar, I have to think for a moment before I can answer, “Oh, that! It’s from my open-heart surgery!”

Why is it so difficult to value myself, and publicly ask that others do the same? There is something that feels so incredibly bold in declaring, “Yes! My time and effort is worth money.”

My toddler’s recent preference for her father has gone from sub-textual to textual. She has no compunction about loudly pushing me away and requesting her dad instead. I’ve been reprimanded for even speaking to her on occasion — “Don’t talk to me, Mom! Don’t talk!”

If I was lucky, I would find an outfit that properly hid my figure such that I looked pretty OK. It was always my body that failed the test, never the clothing. That day, I realized that pregnancy had changed something fundamental for me: I loved how I looked. I loved my bump, I loved what it signified, and I loved how people treated me.

I still feel exactly like me. A more tired me, granted, but still me. I am not overwhelmed by a love for her I could never imagine (which I somehow feel guilty about at times, which is why you should read blogs with caution). I love her dearly and unconditionally – just as I imagined I would. But that is also how I love my husband, my mother, my sister, etc.