Physical Sacrifice

There's a picture of my older sister with her first-born that epitomizes new motherhood. It's by far her worst photo ever. She's the photogenic one, the one who always has a bright smile for the camera and whose face isn't as distressingly asymmetrical as the rest of ours. In fact, I really can't think of a single other bad photograph of her. This one, however, takes the cake.

She sits in an upholstered chair by her fireplace holding her newborn son. She's in her mid-20's, prime of her life. She is glancing sideward at the camera, chin in hand. In her other hand she cradles the precious bottom of a rather large baby who appears to have just been fed and burped. Aw... motherhood.

Read more about the joys of Motherhood. Other "Now I Know" columns include:

Introduction

Clutter

Distraction

Equal Parenting

Grandparents

Memories

Pain

Photographs

Preparation
Pride
Sentimentality

Upon closer inspection, a different picture emerges. There are huge, dark circles under her bloodshot eyes that peer out at the camera with a look saying "get that thing out of my face". It appears as if she attempted to smile but could only raise her upper lip into a tight, almost pained grimace. Rather than a chin perkily perched in her hand, her fingers actually drape the entire left side of her face, giving the impression that her head would fall over were it not for her hand. Ah, motherhood.

Now, I have a picture very much like this one of my own. In fact, I have several. I've never been the photogenic kind and since the birth of my son, cameras are particularly unforgiving. I literally cannot stand to see myself in photos right now. My inherently present undereye circles now droop to my chin, the grays are forever peeking out from under my latest rushed, bad home color job, my eyebrows and lashes seem to have disappeared, and my normally "ruddy" skin is downright splotchy. Yes, motherhood.

I expected the loss of sleep (which has always taken a heavy toll on my appearance), but for some reason, I wasn't as prepared for the lack of nourishment. Why did no one tell me that I would be forced to learn one-handed dining with my left (and unfavored) hand, often while standing and/or holding a child who was grabbing at anything that comes near?

You would also think that I would have somehow just known that there is no such thing as sitting down and taking a break for a baby's mom. Never a fan, I am completely baffled now about television soap operas -- who are these people who have time to watch television during the daytime hours? I'm lucky if I squeeze in a 10-second view of the weather while cooking dinner, and that's my TV for the evening. But daytime? Forget it -- sometimes I remember to turn on the radio for background accompaniment, but I simply cannot imagine actually sitting and watching anything. In fact, I just went to my first movie (sans baby, of course) in over a year and nearly fell asleep. My head was foggy and discombobulated when we exited, because it had been over ten months since I had sat for that long and done nothing but stare ahead.

Add to the usual challenges of babycare the fact that I work at home and mostly without a sitter, and the result is emails during naptimes and other projects into the wee hours, followed by a rousing 6:30 a.m. wake-up call by my son. My biological clock has always functioned well on nine hours of sleep, but I've learned to make do with five.

It's enough to make one wonder how folks with lots of little ones survive at all. I suppose you get accustomed to functioning on half a tank, and I'm positive that it helps to be a younger woman when you start out. I'm sure in time as my son grows farther and farther away from me, I'll feel my "old", rejuvenated self coming back and be able to look again at family photos without cringing. For now, I'll place my really bad photos next to that one of my sister from thirteen years back and think to myself, "I've joined the club."

"Now I Know" first appeared on Moms Online, part of the Oxygen Media network (http://oxygen.com), and is reprinted with permission.