I always thought (and hoped) that when I had my first child my life would be magically transformed. I believed that all my regrets, doubts, insecurities and fears would be washed away with my broken water and replaced by my new self: a strong, fearless mother goddess-lioness. In some ways I was transformed, but I wish I had known that the old me wasn’t going anywhere.

First of all, my depression did not inexplicably disappear like I planned. I’ve battled depression since adolescence and I stopped taking medication a few months before trying to conceive. I assumed the love I felt for my newborn with the excitement of my new life as a mother would have me jumping out of bed every morning ready for the new day. WRONG. Instead, my depression was only tweaked a bit. In the past, my depression led to bouts of staring at the tv all day with a pack of cigarettes and a 6-pack of beer and feeling guilty (and hungover) the next day; now if I’m depressed I let my two-year-old watch cartoons for an hour so I can get a break. The guilt stays with me for days. Before, I’d order take-out and pig out to numb the pain. Now I steal half of my son’s grilled cheese. Before, I’d ignore friends’ and families’ phone calls and emails because I didn’t want to talk to anyone. Now, I use my son as an excuse to say I’m too busy/exhausted/overwhelmed to answer the phone OR check email. Sorry.

Plus, there’s apparently an extra-strength brand of depression exclusively for new mothers called post-partum depression. Great. It goes a little something like this:

I also assumed my social anxiety would be tossed away like a dirty diaper. I imagined hosting playdates while serving wine and cheese and laughing over our children’s latest trials and tribulations. Nope, I’m still awkward as hell. I tried joining local Mommy Groups but found myself dreading them just as I do any other social occasion where I have to talk to people I haven’t known half my life. Some days I’ll even walk an extra 5-6 blocks just to go to a less-populated playground so I can avoid mommy-small-talk. My son doesn’t seem to mind.

It also didn’t help my anxiety to discover that making new mom friends is similar to dating, something else I was never good at. I found myself asking my husband to read emails I was sending to prospective friends to make sure I didn’t sound too desperate or dorky. I’d get excited when asked for a playdate, like I was being asked to the homecoming dance. You like me! You really do! Yet my depression would sneer at me when I’d see cliques of Moms forming, without me.

Oh, and not all Moms are bonded together by the joy of parenting. There are wars going on out here. Fortunately, most people aren’t too judgemental of differing parental choices, but there are some women (and men) who want the world to know that their way is the only way that things should be done.

 

You name it, there’s a differing view. And someone who can’t tolerate yours.

 

And look out! Moms aren’t the only ones with strong opinions on raising children. There are a slew of strangers out there who will be more than happy to tell you that your child should be wearing a hat, standing farther away from the curb or taking his finger out of his nose.

 

Plus, you realize how easy you had it before. I had no idea! As much as I was depressed, socially awkward and bad at dating, I could at least stay out all night dancing or sleep-in or maybe go grab some brunch, and what the heck, pop in for a movie. What? You want to sneak into a 2nd? Why not?! I could escape into the latest best-seller as soon as I plopped onto the couch after work. All I had to worry about was me.

 

You always hear about couples who have children to save their marriage - and it doesn’t work. (No surprise there- I’d need to write a whole separate 10,000 word essay to cover the slew of fights I’ve had with my husband regarding child rearing. grrrrrrr.) I didn’t have a child to save myself. I just thought that it might be an added bonus. I had a child because I was madly in love with my husband and felt ready to be a mother. And even though that added bonus didn’t pull through and I’m still as dysfunctinal, if not more, than I was before, I wouldn’t trade motherhood for anything. I still have all my old quirks but the love I feel for my son and the intense bond I’m creating with my husband (memories, building a family, all that cheese) is worth all of the symptoms post-partum depression can throw my way.

 

Instead of beating myself up for not becoming the mother goddess-lioness I thought I would be, I’m discovering that I’m mothering my way. mamaliza style. I might not be hosting wine and cheese playdates, but I’m slowly making friends who I think will be in my life for a long time. I’ve got my own parenting style going on and I’m digging it. I still have a lot of personal struggles ahead of me, but my support system just got one person stronger.

Liza Tobin lives in beautiful Brooklyn, NY with her husband  and their two-year old son, Luke. She is currently a knocked-up stay at home Mom and anxiously awaiting Luke’s little sister in May 2008 by nesting like a wild bird-woman. She grew up in the Northeast and after many years moving around ended up in New York City since 2000. She dreams of many happy days with her family and being a writer. Oh, and having a house on the beach. And playing the guitar. And sewing her own clothes. And speaking spanish fluently. Oh, and being a professional surfer.