The past 19 months have been filled with lessons on everything, from breastfeeding to toddler psyche to abstaining from explosive meltdowns in a household where everyone is running on four hours of sleep. The takeaways are endless, but, since I only have about six *Substack recommended* minutes of your attention span, I’ve selected a key few to start with. Without further ado, I present to you some of the things I wish I’d known before crossing this threshold of adulthood – to be more prepared, to be less scared, but, also, to appreciate my last days of Prada purchasing power and complete freedom.
1. I’d never experience a peaceful morning again.
As somebody who lived alone for a decade, I used to thrive on mornings. With each year–and each lifestyle fad du jour–I would tack on an extra ten minutes to my routine, amounting to a sacred 90-minute trajectory designated to lead me to “the best version of myself.” I would stoically ignore my phone, drink my lemon water, do my meditation, do some stretching while watching the news (or YouTube) and make coffee and breakfast, which I would then enjoy while perusing the paper version of the New York Times. (What! A! Luxury!) These days, I’m lucky if I manage to get a five-morning breathing exercise (prescribed by my therapist as an antidote to explosive meltdowns) and a glass of Athletic Greens into my system before I begin servicing my two children, one being a 60-pound boxer. By 8am, I’ve usually walked the dog, fed the dog, made oatmeal for a ravenous toddler, fed oatmeal to said ravenous toddler, changed said toddler’s diaper while rejecting demands for yet another serving, consoled her through a tantrum, had my own tantrum, colored half a coloring book of teddy bear figures, and had a fight a with my partner for not appreciating any of my martyrdom. (Clearly, the best version of myself has long disappeared.)
Whether it’s solo mornings or lounging in bed on weekends or impromptu vacations with your girls, motherhood comes with a fundamental loss of freedom, drawing an end to a guilt-free era when your time belongs solely to you. If you still have it, please enjoy it for all of us who can’t.
2. All my unresolved issues would just float to the surface.
Blame it on a childhood of Disney happy ending, but there is a part of me that genuinely thought that meeting “The One” and having a baby would eliminate most of the issues that I dealt with throughout 35 years of existence. As it turned out, said predicament was about as accurate about the election polls of 2016. Sure, meeting a person who accepts you for who you are can put some of your internal demons to rest; particularly those who spent a lifetime telling you that nobody will ever want you. And yet, the dynamics of a relationship can also unravel a myriad of issues – deeply-rooted childhood issues that American therapists like to label as “trauma” but I like to refer to as a human rite of passage – that were previously vacuum sealed in the container of solitude. Motherhood, in particular, has a way of opening up a Pandora’s box of memories and making you hyper-aware of how you were raised and which patterns you want to avoid repeating. (Reassuringly, most therapists believe that you can’t f*ck up your kid in the same way your parents did, only differently.) Speaking of therapists, find a good one and keep them on retainer – or be smart and start untangling some of the dark webs beforehand.
3. Pampers would replace Prada.
I would like to coin a new term called Single Girl Shopping, i.e., shopping with an ease and abandon that comes with knowing that your money is designated for you and you alone. Unless you married a tech magnate, you can bid that feeling adieu about one year after you have a child. Suddenly, there’s another little person gnawing away at your supplementary budget, making each purchase decision more complex than the Warsaw Pact. Do I really need those Prada loafers? Where will I wear them, considering that I live in the capital of athleisure and see six people a day? Should I really be spending money on them, given that I have to pay for music classes, a trampoline, a doll stroller and another box of Pampers Pure the next time I sit down at my computer? I once read that marketers are absolutely obsessed with mothers, for their purchasing power exceeds that of anybody else in America – and, judging by the number of boxes that arrive from my pal Jeff Besos on any given day, that’s true. It’s just sad that none of them contain Prada loafers.
By the way, if you want to contribute to my own Prada Pampers fund, you can always upgrade to a paid subscription! Cheerio!
4. It really would be as tough as they say.
I remember, a few years ago, a few friends from my group chat were constantly complaining about their toddlers. At that time, I was doing copy jobs by day and writing a book by night and running through enough Adderall to wake up a hibernating bear. Every time they would recount their latest conundrum, I would look at my mounting to-do list and judgmentally think to myself, “come on, it’s just a two-year-old – how hard can it really be?”
Today, I would like to issue them a formal apology. As it turns out, toddlers are essentially tiny megalomaniacs put onto this planet to test your grit and your sanity through a daily sequence of tantrums and life-endangering stunts (we are currently in a couch bungee jumping phase). Not only that, but raising a child is one of the most isolating things you can do, which is a complete paradox because you are, technically, never alone. The child is small, they can’t talk back, and each minute stretches on for eternity as you help them put together the same wooden puzzle for the millionth time, or build yet another Lego structure that they swiftly destroy. If you are a single mother, or even just a full-time stay-at-home mom, rest assured that what you are doing is more difficult than any corporate role. (Full disclosure: I have an amazing part-time nanny, and will you look at all this whining?!)
And yet, it’s all worth it. When I first got pregnant, I remember telling my single friends that I’d be honest in my feedback of the experience. “If they’re all bullshitting about it being the best feeling in the world, I’ll let you know.” While I firmly believe that women should only have children if they truly want to, I can confirm that I, for one, have received the greatest gift in return. Sure, there are the chaotic mornings and public tantrums and endless kitchen cleanups, but there are also the moments in-between, like when I pick up my daughter from bed in the morning, or when she falls down and runs to me for a consolation hug, or when she brings me my flip flops from the other room and says “Mama.” It’s those precious, fleeting moments – which I know will soon be gone, traded in for the next stage of childhood, when she sees my flaws more clearly and no longer looks at me with that blind adoration – that cancel out the rest of it. They make me want to work harder on myself, on my patience, on my relationship, to give this little human the love that she deserves. And that, right there, might be the best version of myself.