I thought I knew what motherhood entailed.
Like most new dads, my understanding came only from the outside looking in. I’d watched my mother, my sister, and friends raise children. I’d listened to their stories, read about it, and seen glimpses of the newborn phase on social media. I thought I had the gist of it—or at least, I believed I did.
I knew the newborn stage was exhausting. I knew it demanded long hours and personal sacrifice. I understood that life would revolve around this tiny human. But nothing could have prepared me for how little I truly knew.
There have been nights when she barely slept, moments when he cried inconsolably even after she fed him, and still, she would rock him gently for over an hour, whispering and soothing, until he finally drifted off. Only for him to wake again needing to be fed.
When I’m not home, she has almost no time to herself. She intentionally loses herself in him, making sure he feels loved, protected, and safe. And she does all of this while carrying her own invisible burdens.
There’s the lingering physical pain from childbirth, the soreness and cuts from breastfeeding—men, imagine scraping a razor blade across the same sensitive area repeatedly, and you’ll start to understand a fraction of it. There’s the emotional toll from postpartum hormones, the waves of sadness or anxiety that arrive without warning. There’s the quiet, personal heartbreak of looking in the mirror and wondering if her body will ever feel or look the same.
I thought I knew what motherhood entailed. But seeing it all through her eyes has given me a deeper, humbling understanding of just how encompassing, exhausting, painful, and yet beautiful it truly is.
It’s taught me that no amount of physical pain, emotional strain, or frustration will ever diminish her fierce love for our son. I’ve witnessed a strength I thought I understood—but now realize I could never have fully imagined.
This is the strength of motherhood. Fierce, unrelenting, and extraordinary.
