Raising Roo

I remember it vividly. Leaving that dinner party on a chilly February night. Eight months pregnant, I hoisted myself up into the SUV, troubled. 

Even without words, the looks throughout the evening had said it all. “Your life is about to be flipped upside down.” And it terrified me. 

Before I became pregnant, business men would say things to me like, “Good thing you don’t have kids, your priorities would really change.” Experienced mothers would warn, “Once you have kids, you won’t work the way you do now.”

I knew things would change, but I didn’t know how. And, honestly, I was afraid the change would make me unrecognizable to myself. Would I still be…me?

Then came Roo. 

The moms and businessmen weren't wrong, but they weren’t right either.

Sure, everything fluctuated—my body, my sleep, my routine, the hours I could work. My circumstances absolutely changed, but something in me did not. In fact, I only became more of who I already was. 

Becoming a mom showed me I had more capacity to love than I ever knew possible. Big love. A deep down, hurt-in-your-soul kind of love. I’m constantly reminded that my heart no longer lives within me but is walking around, outside of my body, playing with dinosaurs.

Being a mom is a part of me, but it’s not all of me. It took me a long time to find the words to articulate that, even longer to say it out loud.

Burnout in business trained me how to place healthy boundaries between my roles and my identity. I love my son and motherhood more than words can describe. But just like burn out won't make me a better entrepreneur, martyrdom won’t make me a better mom.

My priorities did change, but I still run a business. 

My world was flipped upside down, but I’m still true to myself. 

That night as we drove away from the dinner party, facing the unknown, I resolved to live my own life while caring for another one. My hope is that one day, when my child is all grown and living a life of his own, I will still know how to live mine.