3,650 Days

This time 10 years ago I spent my days watching One Tree Hill, eating mac and cheese with a side of Pop-Tarts (both from a box), napping, and trying to crank out as much work as I could before going on maternity leave. Pregnant with twins, I had a beautiful nursery furnished with anything you could need for an infant — or two (remember Diaper Genies?). I was prepared for motherhood, or so I thought. 

            Every pregnancy is a miracle, but ours was a supersized miracle. After going through all kinds of infertility treatments, our second round of IVF worked. We had two good eggs on which to place our parenthood hopes. You know them as Graydon and Margot. 

            Everyone tells you that you can’t prepare for being a parent, and they’re right. A whole new compartment of emotions and feelings opens in your brain once you have children. You thought you loved your spouse, your parents, your cat, but that love is nothing compared to the love your babies bring out of you. It’s like the scene at the end of How the Grinch Stole Christmas where the Grinch’s heart grows three times its original size. The difference is that when you become a parent, your heart grows too big for your body, so it leaves you and covers your children whole. 

            For a long time I didn’t think I wanted kids. When I was little I wanted to be editor of The New York Times. There weren’t any kids or even a husband in that dream. It was just me in a gray pantsuit carrying the briefcase that Santa brought me in sixth grade. In college, I was laser focused on having a career, despite the distraction of a couple boyfriends. And even after I married the man of my dreams (in my 30s), I wasn’t 100 percent sold on the idea of being a mother. 

            In a way it felt selfish, greedy even. We were a happy couple. We were doing things we enjoyed together and separately. I was scared of what children would do to that chemistry, and I worried about gambling our happiness for even more happiness. And as someone who only babysat once in her life (that ended with one of the children locking themselves in the bathroom), I didn’t know if I was cut out to supervise, much less raise, another person. 

            When I finally decided that I wanted a child, reality ripped my blueprint of the future to shreds. I couldn’t get pregnant. Like my mother, who tried for 13 years to have me, I was pre-menopausal at an early age. It’s one thing to think you might not want something. It’s quite another to hear it might not be possible for you to have it if you do. 

            I don’t revisit those memories often because I can’t. Even though I know our story had more than a happy ending, I can’t think about the chance of never having our children. 

            When 2020 arrived, everyone was talking about decades. I hadn’t used that word since Y2K (remember how we were all going to die or at least not be able to use our computers that New Year’s Day?). What’s funny is that I never thought about how The Tots were born at the beginning of a new decade. Back then I was too busy trying to get comfortable to reflect on the past 10 years. So after I heard the decade talk this past New Year’s, I took time to think about the past 3,650 days — my first 3,650 days of being a mother. 

            If there were such a thing as a Winks of Goodness meter (I should market those), you’d see that the most Winks of Goodness I’ve experienced in my lifetime have taken place during the last 10 years. That’s not to say that motherhood hasn’t challenged me to my core because it has kicked my butt repeatedly, but even in those moments there’s goodness. (It might not surface until a few weeks later, but it’s there.) 

            Most motherhood clichés are true. It is the hardest and best job I’ve ever had. I can’t imagine life without them. Once you get used to a phase, it changes. And time does indeed fly. Here we are at double digits, and those little babies I was scared to bring home from the hospital are growing into exceptional human beings, teaching their mother something new every day. 

            Happy Birthday, Tater Tots. Mommy loves you.