Thoughts About Parenthood, 1 Year Later

Musings from a Black woman who didn’t quite think this through.

When I last reflected on parenthood and what it would mean for my life, I was deep in the throes of prenatal misery. I felt like an alien on planet ‘womban’; a mystical place where beautiful, valuable beings with uteruses were physically, mentally and emotionally stretched over the course of 10 grueling months. While stretching, they were expected to experience deep fulfilling joy, rock a naturally dewy glow, and lean into the notion that their life’s work was complete.

I felt none of that shit.

Giving birth two months early didn’t help my case. It was actually terrible. The 300+ days that followed my son’s birth were a funhouse of emotions that can only be explained as wrenching (heart, soul, mind, gut…).

For folks who’ve decided that parenthood isn’t in their future, this may seem like a moment of affirmation for your decision to remain childless. But alas, I cannot confirm (nor deny) that you’ve made the right choice. Although the general tone of this message skews negative, I want to talk about the rebirth that happened after the birth.

I’m not referring to placenta. I’m talking about the deliverance that is postpartum existentialism. For so many people, having a child is an incredibly isolating experience…