Lianne’s story is also available on her blog at: https://lianne-kernan-2zsl.squarespace.com/blog/2018/1/9/mom-the-24-hour-referee

I think being a Mom is like permanently being in school: you are always learning. When you are pregnant, you learn that your body has a mind of its own now that there’s a new townie. Your body becomes an inconvenient roommate that does whatever it wants and leaves you to figure out how to deal with your new reality. Your sleep patterns change, your eating patterns change, and what once buttoned and zipped up with ease must now be held together precariously with a hair tie around the button, threaded through the buttonhole. 

And if that weren’t enough, one day you are minding your own business, and someone kicks you from the inside. Intrusive doesn’t begin to describe this. What’s worse, you jump because there is an invisible person beating you up and no matter how much you try to explain it to your husband, he still thinks you look crazy. 

Be that as it may, there are perks to being pregnant. Pregnant women are cute. Everything they do is cute. Fell asleep at the table? Cute. Attempting to sit down without bending from the waist? Cute. Started crying at the drive-thru because they forgot to give you the Chick fil a sauce? Cute. 

And if that weren’t all, if you are a fan of physical touch, everyone wants to rub your belly. Personally, I didn’t mind it too much if ladies wanted to rub my belly. What was particularly uncomfortable though was when men would try to rub my belly. I remember once at church this brother came up to me and started rubbing my belly. I laughed nervously and said, “hey bro, it’s still my stomach!” He was like, “yeah but there’s a baby in it, whats the big deal?” 

…

The big deal is the only man allowed to rub my stomach in that way is the one who contributed to making the baby. I think that’s a fair monopoly to have, but hey, maybe that’s just me.

And so you walk around for nine months dodging hands like Neo in the Matrix until the day arrives for you to gift your baby to the world. And then the fun begins.

I had my first child in England, and I will never forget getting to the hospital. They put me in a room to wait before moving me to my actual room and I remember laying there in the dark hospital room, at midnight, listening to a woman scream bloody murder down the hall. You bet I was scared. I mean, the woman was really letting go! 

Now, I am not a screamer. In times of intense pain, I get quieter, if that is even possible. And so when the contractions began after I got induced, my body was in shock. If my body could talk, it would have said nothing, because there were no words to describe the intensity of labor. Just an incredulity. Ok, maybe if my body could talk it would have said, ‘is this a joke? This has got to be a joke, cause these contractions are doing the most right now.’

And then the moment Tim and I had waited for: the baby arrived. I always thought the moment would be almost cinematic: the first cry, the sweet cherub face, the tears pouring down my cheeks as Tim and I wept and embraced our firstborn son.

This little blue and red thing was deposited on my chest. His head was, to avoid exaggeration, shaped like a pylon. Tim and I stared openmouthed, trying to shape the ‘O’ of horror that was our mouths into a smile. But instead, it was more like a Chrissy Teigan grimace. 

Oh, and I was exhausted. 

But then, the funniest thing happened. After they took my baby away to be cleaned and put his little hat on and wrapped him up in his blanket to be given back to me, the feelings came. It felt like Christmas morning. And cleaned up with the little hat on, he was cute after all. 

And so it began: Tim and Lianne Kernan, parents. A whole new world. A whole new experience. I learned what it meant to lay down my life at a level that I had previously not understood. There were nights where we were so tired that Tim tied a string around his toe and attached it to the rocker and would move his foot to rock the crib whenever the baby would cry. Sleep deprivation makes you resourceful and creative, let me tell you.

And then little Jr began to chub out. He began to smile. And everything is worth it when your baby smiles at you, let me tell you. 

But there were hard times. There were times I felt depressed. I would feel so anxious at every a little cough or cry. There were times I felt anger and frustration. I felt like a terrible Mom, who would undoubtedly ruin this little person’s life. 

One of the biggest lessons of first-time motherhood I had to learn was to say I’m sorry when I made mistakes and to forgive myself. The words, “I’m sorry, I made a mistake, will you please forgive me?” is one of the best gifts that you can give to your children. Because parenthood isn’t perfect. Pretending it is sets your kids up for a life of superficiality and never being enough. Showing that you are human and make mistakes but apologize gives them comfort: if Mommy and Daddy can make mistakes but get back up and try again, then so can I. 

And once you think you finally got a handle on the first time mom thing, along comes baby number two to teach you a whole different level of mom-jitsu. You go from being the manager to the referee. 

Hope you have your whistle ready.