12 Weird Truths No One Told Me About Parenthood
Before I became a mother, I could only imagine how it would feel.
By Brittany Chaffee
Photography by Alisa Moen
I got plenty of advice before having my baby. However, there are truths that people don’t tell you because, firstly, if they did, they’d probably sound like a total dick anyway. And secondly, you just don’t know until you know. You know?
Instead, I wanted to share my own truths (not advice) I’ve kept hidden away in my iPhone notes — where all great ideas begin.
1. Routine habits have become the purest of pleasures.
Things like: lying down in bed, taking the first sip of coffee after daycare drop off, reading a book, showering (??), listening to music, answering email. Before kids, they were just “things I did.” Now, they are little nectar bombs of goodness.
2. I think about my mortality. A lot.
I don’t drive like a crazy person anymore. Now, specifically on the way to pick up Lila, I’m a VERY careful driver. Constantly, I’m imagining my own death. It’s something I should discuss in therapy.
3. Work has become incrementally easier; more freeing.
Since maternity leave. I don’t worry about a “blunt” email. I stand up for myself in meetings, and I don’t panic when something is “on fire.” The corporate world seems less ethereally important than it did pre-baby. Additionally, using my cognitive brain during the day is a reprieve. I’m a better mother when I step away and write a dumb email.
4. My life has been overtaken by cords and boxes.
Naturally, every bottle warmer and monitor requires a different charging cord. Our house is always littered with the following: a dozen chargers, boxes from last-minute Amazon orders, diapers, and more cords.
5. Motherhood has changed my relationship to thrill-seeking.
Before Lila, I desperately wanted to try mushrooms or skydiving. Now, I don’t have the appetite for it. Author Jia Tolentino once called the pre-motherhood years the “death-wish years, and my former self agrees.
6. I don’t worry about my physical appearance as much.
Most days, I’m wearing a sweatshirt and jeans. I don’t fret about my suddenly unengaged middle region. I’m simply less neurotic about my body—my brain capacity is better spent on other things these days.
7. I’m afraid — for now — that I have nothing intellectual to offer at dinner parties.
I thought parenthood would give me a ticket into this expansive underworld, but currently, I can only offer primal stories about stacking blocks and changing diapers. The main person living in my brain like a haphazard little troll under the bridge is, indeed, Lila.
8. The narrative women have been fed about feeling an ethereal love the moment our babies are laid on our chest is mildly inaccurate.
We’ve been told that your world is immediately flushed with radical, earth-shattering love. For me, loving Lila is like rolling a snowball. As time goes on, my love for her gets bigger. I’m so obsessed with her now that I want to physically wear her (weird? I don’t care). I was ashamed when I didn’t feel that right away. Of course, I loved her, but that love grew instead of being an instant rush.
9. The aggressive wake-ups.
We knew we’d be tired. But I did not see the abrupt wake-ups coming. Gone are the mornings of scrolling TikTok in bed or waking up with the birds. I hear Lila wailing and pop up like silly string. This will probably be our lives for the next 15 years, but I try to make peace with it and enjoy the urgency of life.
10. Kids are their own people, not a 50/50 replica of us.
I always thought Lila would be half my husband, half me. But now that she’s here, I see that she’s her own person. She has a fire in her gut unlike anything I’ve ever seen. She’s deeply sweet and kind; respects her own space. Physically, she has flecks of both of us. But still, she’s all her own.
11. I eat most of my breakfasts and lunches in my car.
If I’m not hammering an egg salad sandwich in my car before daycare pickup, I don’t know who I am anymore. It’s comical. I’m always flying through a drive-thru or grocery store to eat a meal I forgot about.
12. The paradox is poetic and chaotic.
As a mother, I exist in many spaces at once. Early on, when she was colicky and crying, I imagined putting her on the front doorstep whilst feeling empathy so large I could explode. I want to be alone whilst wanting to crawl into her tiny infant lap. Motherhood is deeply everything, often at the same time. It is the most overwhelming and beautiful thing.
Brittany Chaffee
Brittany is an avid storyteller, professional empath, horse girl, and author. Off work hours, it’s all about a well-lit place, warm bread, and her daughter’s wild presence. Follow her on Instagram at @brittanychaffee and read more of her writing on her Substack, bathmilk.
