Two Wardrobes

On resisting matrescence.

About a month ago, when we realised we’d be moving house again, I had the sudden urge to simplify my wardrobe. It’s not massively excessive as it is, but I do have three dressing gowns. Interpret this as you will. One fluffy winter gown, a light floral linen piece and a light satin piece in dusty pink. I need to re-home one of my summer dressing gowns, I reluctantly thought to myself. I resolved to give away the pink satin. Fast forward a few short weeks, and suddenly only one of them fits. The bump is growing, as it should, and no longer fits inside the floral dressing gown. Pink silk is all I have. I decided to keep the floral anyway and placed it in the back of the wardrobe for a few months until it fits again. Follow for more decluttering inspiration.

Much of parenting appears to be this way, to me. That some things need to head to the back of the cupboard for a season. There’s this tension between these two versions of myself, and the reality is that I need to make space for both of them. I need to be able to come to terms with the lack of simplicity in having two wardrobes. I want things to be clear cut. Which is it? This or that? Maternity wardrobe or regular wardrobe? I’ve still not learnt my lesson and often re-home my regular clothes whilst growing a baby, and re-home my maternity clothes once the birth is complete. But the fact is, I need them both. They each have a role in different seasons. And even when it feels like forever before the leaves change, really not that much time passes.

There was a lady on a local Mum page recently, asking advice on weaning her baby. The baby was just two weeks old and the Mumma stated that breastfeeding just wasn’t working with their “busy family life and schedule.” I was reminded of a feeling I get when I hear people talk about slotting their babies into their lives without any adjustment on the parent’s part. When they talk about their desire to remain wholly unchanged - their bodies, their schedules, their freedom…I get the feeling that they’re resisting their own Matrescence. Clinging to their old lives, hobbies, personalities - convinced that anything different would be a bleak development. We have these beliefs that to Mother is to be less than we previously were. To have our essence and our glow diluted. That to sacrifice is a loss of some kind.

But a Mother’s sacrifice is nothing less than a sacred investment.
Our essence becomes magnified and expanded in immeasurable ways.
You won’t be the same person when you enter this portal to creation.
You’ll have magic you never had before.
You’ll be both softer and stronger.
And the paradox is that if you make peace with the art of surrender, these changes become more like conscious, empowered movement than painful loss.

I think what we see as flaws and inconveniences contain much more information and wisdom than we often realise. As I recently read a manuscript on the topic of Matrescence, I was surprised to hear language that described how pregnant Mothers experience “cognitive decline,” in which they suffer from “impaired memory and concentration.”
I would have described this phenomenon differently.
I would have described cognitive channelling, and memory and concentration conservation. Mothers aren’t doing less than they were doing before. They’re doing infinitely more. Our bodies wisely prioritising tasks for the enormous role of bringing a baby into the world and shepherding them through life. Some tasks just don’t make the cut.

There is so much to be missed when we try to bypass our maternal evolution. Those three hourly breaks to sit down and feed your infant? (Aside from the multitude of medicinal, developmental and relational benefits for baby…) What a perfect design! A ritual that forces Mothers to sit down for thirty minutes to an hour every few hours…? What an amazingly mutually beneficial rhythm. Resting is BUILT INTO THE DESIGN. (Not to take away from the energetic and nutritional investment of breastfeeding, which is of course immense.) Yet as a culture, we see it as an inconvenience to our busy lives, and do what we can to extricate ourselves from the responsibility. Thus contributing to our own depletion and exhaustion.

We cling to an old pace, and miss the blessing and necessity of slowness. Our nervous systems don’t quite know what to do with this and chronic disregulation ensues.
We cling to our schedules, and we’re angered when they’re disrupted - missing the art of making space for new tiny people and their needs. Of becoming wise leaders of our miniature communities.
We cling to a cultural obsession with hyper-independence and we miss the profound nature of interconnectedness with one another. We miss cues and needs (our own and that of our offspring) and opportunities to nurture our own warmth and compassion, in the name of fostering an unnecessary “independence” in even the smallest of infants.

The transformation is built into the design, and it’s beautiful and sensical and full of gifts. Resistance to your own Mothermorphosis will lead to splinching yourself, I’m convinced. Never quite in one place or the other. Trying to wear all your clothes at once, or burning one wardrobe completely. Always feeling pulled in multiple directions. Always tired.

After Lumi was born, I became extra sensitive to the temperature. I suddenly couldn’t handle heat like I previously could, and certainly not the cold. I had a hunch that I had thermo-synced with baby Lumi so that I knew when she was comfortable and when she wasn’t. I consider this nothing less than a superpower. And when I say, “Lumi will be getting hot,” and someone has the audacity to disagree with me - I have the knowing and self belief to banish their muggle selves all the way out of my realm of expertise. I’m learning not to let anyone undermine my maternal superpowers.

Do you want to know my favourite part of postpartum? (Aside from, obviously - the new baby.) It’s in the hours and days afterward when you have that cute little miniature bump in the place where the baby used to be. My skin turns to velvet - so soft and luxurious - probably some hormonal blessing. And I just keep rubbing my tummy like a little pet rabbit or something - I don’t know, I am OBSESSED. And I can hear the background noise of a culture concerned with ‘bouncing back’ and blah blah blah. But I just don’t care to be toned or tight or taut or whatever. I’m not thinking of running again or doing squats. I love that sweet little squishy remnant of the baby’s former home. It makes the perfect cushion for the baby. I can’t imagine transitioning straight back to my usual body. How sad and jarring.
I can’t wait for that bump again. That intermediate phase of softening again. The in between space. The velvet skin. I’ll never wish it away. Not to fit in, or in the name of self care, or to achieve some meaningless standard. Even if I needed a third wardrobe.

Matrescence isn’t an ending. It’s not a closing. It’s a transformation unparalleled in human existence. You evolve, and you adapt to welcome a new baby. And after a while, do you know what you do with your old self? With that second wardrobe? With your hobbies and passions and skills and the things that delight you?
You fold them in.
How? You just…fold them in.
And trust that you are infinitely more capable of a balanced integration than you ever have been before.

Schitt’s Creek, Season 2, Episode 2.

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Lysette