River Rafting vs. Motherhood

Motherhood is like river rafting trip. You do everything you can to prepare for this trip; get all your gear packed, plan out what you're going to wear and the route you're going to take, preparing mentally for this exciting and fun time you're going to have. Maybe you read some books and talk to friends who have taken a journey like this before. They'll tell you all about their fun times and enough horror stories to make you reconsider your trip for a quick second. What you don’t realize though is that you just don't know what it's going to be like until you're there in the middle of it.

Pregnancy, parenting, newborns, toddlers, same deal. Forest Gump knows exactly what he's talking about. Life IS like a box of chocolates, you just don't know what you're going to get. Well, except for when they include one of those little maps in your box...but inevitabley someone will push a cherry creme where a caramel is supposed to be and the map is no good (and you have an awful cherry creme in your mouth that you'd like to spit in the garbage). You can prepare and try to read maps and talk to friends and buy the latest and greatest thing that's going to be the handiest device to ever exist. And then you head to labor and delivery, birth plan in hand (het het).

The day has finally come, your bags are packed and you're ready to head out on the rafting trip of your life. The weather is great and you're looking forward to climbing in the raft. Your guide gives an overview of what to do in select scenarios, falling out of the boat or how to paddle effectively as a group before turning you loose in the water. You’re excited to start out, the first half an hour is exhilirating and you’re having the time of your life. Whitecap waves, rocks and logs seem to have materialized from nowhere. Rapids. You knew they were here, you knew there would be challenges, and you were up for it at the time but now? You’re not so sure. Jostled is an understatement and you go flying out of the raft as it capsizes. Oh crap. What do you do now? You’re terrified and are second-guessing the entire trip. Your guide is shouting directions but you’re floundering; trying to remember the crash course right before you got into the water, you rush through the catalogue of stories in your mind. Swim to an eddy. Okay. Your guide rights the raft and you manage to swim yourself to it. There’s an outstretched arm waiting for you, it’s not your guide but the brunette that was sitting behind you. She smiles as she pulls you back onto the raft. Tricking through the rest of the rapids is awesome. No other word describes it. It’s awesome. Exciting, scary, fun, fabulous; even better now that you’ve made a few new friends on the raft. The waters start to calm before you round a corner and come to a clearing. The air is crisp, the sky blue, the trees reflecting off of the mirror of water below. You look around and realize that you’ve arrived. And it was worth it. Almost unthinkable, but you kind of want to do it again.

Yes, motherhood is like a rafting adventure. Scratch that, motherhood IS a rafting adventure. Exciting as it is, your raft will inevitably capsize at some point. You will make new friends they’ll reach their arms out to pull you back in the raft. You’ll pull them back onto the raft when they fall out, you’ll laugh and paddle together. You’ll also realize that no matter how much preparation you do, what gadgets you’ve got or how many stories you hear there just isn’t anything that prepares you for it. You’ll arrive at a clearing, look back at some point at all that it took to get here and you’ll admire yourself and will be in awe of this little being, this little life that’s been entrusted to you. Words cannot describe the love, the difficulty, the joy, the anguish, the fun, the stress, the sheer awesomeness that is your child. It’s as if your heart and soul jumps out of your chest, you hold it close for a time before letting it go to run around the playground at the park.

Then, just as he poops in the bathtub for the third night in a row you’ll second guess yourself wanting to do it all over again. True story.