I’ll never forget when I was about 8 months pregnant with Charlotte complaining to my coworkers about how swollen my hands were. I was miserable with all the swelling and extra weight I was experiencing and whined how I just wanted to wear my wedding ring again. “Will my hands ever be the same again?,” I asked one of my co-workers and dear friend Amy, a mother to two girls who had already graduated from high school. She smiled and gently told me, “The swelling will go down, but your hands will never be the same.” Tilting my head a little confused, I just looked at her and knew she had just told me something profound, but I didn’t quite get it then. Now five and half years into motherhood, I do.
After having my first born, I was a panicked new mom all about doing everything by the book. Little did I know that we get to write our own manual. All hands on learning is the only way to go about motherhood, and the only way through it is through it. With every milestone, for my baby and for me (because we as moms go through our own milestones, too), I realized that little by little, I was changing.
I had been a classic Type A pre-kids. Overachiever, schedule-oriented, organized, and I pushed myself to be the best in everything I did. A true first born I am. When I officially became a stay-at-home mom four months into motherhood, I knew that I had to learn to let my control-freak self let things go. It was the hardest lesson I ever had to learn, but the little hands I was now responsible for reminded me it was all for good reason.
I learned grace and how to trust my gut. I learned that our babies grow on their own schedule, and that we are evolving every day just as much as they are.
Fast forward to having my second baby, my baby Colin, and my new relaxed self, who had found a groove of motherhood, was thrown into a tizzy again. Now caring for two sets of tiny hands meant my once again swollen hands were full.
The second time around, I experienced postpartum depression, and it was a struggle. By the time the swelling went down four months into motherhood with two, I knew that I wasn’t myself. But how could I be? I had no idea who I was anymore, and I knew it would be a battle to find her. One day at I time, I realized I had to rebuild myself. Little by little, the little hands I was caring for were the ones who were going to help rebuild me into the person I am now.
They’ve taught me true grace, humility, sacrifice, joy, unconditional love, patience, a tired I never knew was possible, elation, heartache, and happiness. They have pushed me to fight my way through the darkness because they’re the ones holding the light, tiny little beacons with unwavering steadfast love.
Sometimes we can be so hard on ourselves as mothers, beating ourselves up about all the things we didn’t do or the things we did wrong. But you know what? I bet our babies will remember all the the things we DID right.
And for the memories they were too young to remember, we’ll carry those with us in our heart forever: Holding their hands when they were learning to walk, feeding them their first taste of ice cream, hugging them when they were scared of the thunder, putting on bandaids when they scraped a knee, and loving them when all they wanted was their mama. Our hands did that.
I’ll continue to make memories with these babies, because time is a thief. They won’t be babies much longer, and I’m going to try my best to make the most of our time together, making memories of us. Holding their hands through life is a job I won’t ever take for granted.
My wedding ring fits again just like it did when it was first placed on my finger, but my hands are not the same. My friend Amy was right, and I am forever grateful for the hands who have changed mine.
All photography by Tiffany Harston Photography
