I'd Tell Her...

This is me, June 2021. 1 week postpartum with my second. I don't remember it being taken, but I'm so glad it was. Looking at this photo, I wish I could go back in time to this version of me and give her a massive hug. And if I could, this is what I'd tell her.

I'd tell her it feels hard because it is. It's the hardest, yet most rewarding work you'll ever do. 

I'd tell her to ask for help, often and without guilt or hesitation. 

I'd tell her she's doing an amazing job and no one else can do the work she's doing right now the way that she can. 

I'd tell her she is the entire world to those two beautiful girls and every decision she doubts and questions is the right one for her and her little family right in this moment. 

I'd tell her that even though it feels like she's completely lost herself, the “new her” that she'll find is worth the wait. 

I'd tell her that she's not a bad mother, wife, or friend, or daughter. That she is just all consumed right now, the way it has to be.

I'd tell her that it's ok not to enjoy every minute, because that's impossible.

I'd tell her that even though right now it all feels so hard and that this phase will never end, it does, it will, I promise.

I'd tell her that her body and brain will feel like hers again, sooner than she thinks. And that she will get more than 2 minutes of time to herself to think again.

I'd tell her, with all my hindsight, that the days feel long, but the years are so very short.

I'd tell her to surrender to the mess of it all, the chaos, the joy, the intense love and guilt.

I'd tell her to leave her expectations at the door and allow herself to be completely humbled by the journey of motherhood.

I'd tell her to be kind to herself, always. And as a rule, never to say anything to herself that she wouldn't say to someone else going through the same thing.

I'd tell her that there is no such thing as the perfect mother, but she is the perfect mother to them.

I would tell her, but I know she wouldn't hear me.

She wouldn't know how to through the fog of postpartum and two under two. 

She'd just nod and smile, with tears in her eyes, hoping that I was right, but not truly believing me. 

So I'd hug her that little bit harder and hope to hold some of the pieces together for her, just for a few more moments.