Ever so often, the fraction of you that is "you" shrinks a bit. Sometimes it grows back again, other times it is a barely visible tiny line on the pie chart of your humanity.
Parenthood is about giving. You give them your uterus for nine months, you give them your once-slender, supple-skinned stomach, you give them your breasts for countless months, you give them your sleep and your dignity and change from a once well-put-together member of society into a frantic, overworked, overtired shamble of the woman you once were and suddenly become that lady at Walmart at 10pm in your pajamas with wet hair buying Children's Tylenol with vomit on your shirt.
The transition from childless to child-bearing is like trying to put a square peg into a circular hole.
You can't force it, it has to just happen. And somewhere along that slow, treacherous journey, you shave off bits of yourself in order to make it fit. It's not painful, for the most part. It happens so slowly actually that until you one day realize you fit. It isn't entirely painless however, but those little drooling, smiling, diaper-wearing monkeys certainly are the morphine that get you through it.
See, it's almost like a diagram.
You lose four triangularish shapes.
1. Your impeccable personal hygiene.
No matter who you are, or how any kids you have- face it. You just don't spend as much time plucking your eyebrows or painting your nails.
In fact, if you're anything like me, you occasionally forget to shower at all unless you have somewhere important to be.
2. Your friends.
Some people have kids, and blossom easily into parenthood without dismantling their social connections. Most do not. It's not OUR fault, but, as a non-parent, it just doesn't seem like a plausible excuse when little Susie has a fever and is vomiting on you when you call to say you can't make it to a birthday bash at the local bar with your Delta Kappa Mega sisters. Or, little Tyler had a rough day and is bawling he wants mommy and you are late to book club for the fifth time. No, it isn't easy to mesh parents and non-parents. At all.
3. Your marital spontaneity.
Self explanatory, right? Kids. Stress. Mess. Exhaustion. Sleepless nights. Tantrums.
You get the idea.
Back in the honeymoon stage you probably met each other at the doorstep for a kiss and the quick exchange of what you did all day, including what you ate for lunch.
Now- your just lucky he came home, and he is just lucky you actually managed to get up off the couch where you finally fell, exhausted, and unlocked the chain lock that keeps your little ones from escaping into the wild.
4. Your personal interests.
Hobbies? Yeah. I had those too. Lots of them.
My new hobby is folding mountains of tiny clothing and disinfecting areas of the house where one of my offspring decided to empty their dirty diaper and smear it on the furniture with toy hammers.
Yes. I'm a photographer. Yes. I'm an artist. Yes. I'm a baker. But for now? I'm a mom who used to be those things and the closest I get is taking pictures of my little loin fruits as they strut around in my boots or sing a terrible rendition of an intro to Curious George like they were Whitney Houston, writing the alphabet on a piece of paper for my kid to recite back to me, or making cupcakes as one of my little people have a birthday signifying yet one more year we have all survived.
To back up a bit, I should clarify that not all parents or mothers lose all their corners as they maneuver their square peg into the deep chasm of parenthood. Some lose one, maybe two. Some lose all four.
The fact is, however morose as it may sound, no one enters unscathed. Either your friends, your perfect hair, your scrap booking, or the spectacular connection you once had with your spouse; Something fades as you morph into the new you.
A better you, one would hope. A selfless person who gives up a part of themselves and the things you held dear, to make room for something you hold even more closely to your heart and soul.
I'm not saying it's a pathway down into the abyss of misery, I'm just saying it's an adjustment that makes for compromise.
I wouldn't change a moment of it, and I've never once wondered what it would be like if I hadn't. However, I do often wonder how long it will be before I once again have the pleasure of showering daily (undisturbed) or even using the bathroom without a miniature accompaniment. Or when I will wake up on a Saturday and not pour milk and serve pancakes before I even turn my coffee pot on and awake the person under the zombie that I am.
Or when going to the grocery store for something simple like cream cheese won't be an hour long affair full of chasing down little giggle monsters and putting on shoes just to turn around and find the other one, the once fully dressed monster is- you guessed it- in only his underwear again.
Someday these things shall pass and I again will grow into that well cornered, all pieces intact, square I once was.
But, my friends, the important thing to realize is that by then; When I again have all my corners and nooks to me again?
So will the (w)hole of my family.
And we will still fit together perfectly.
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