By Brianna Forsman 
It was a rare family outing. I had finally braved the world—germs, sunshine, bugs, strangers, and all. We were in desperate need of some fresh air and sunshine, but all these perceived dangers still lingered in the back of my mind despite my diaper bag full of sunscreen and Germ-X, and the mosquito net snugly over my infant son’s stroller.
My world was still reeling from the changes my son had introduced. I no longer had time for the simple luxuries I once took for granted. A shower, a hot meal, two hours of sleep in a row? Forget about it! My life was completely out of control; my body no longer even belonged to just me. The constant demands of my baby felt suffocating. Motherhood had been hard. Harder than I ever dreamed or imagined it would be when I was a child lovingly tending to my baby dolls.
As I waited in line at the zoo entrance, my puffy, sleep-deprived eyes scanned my surroundings, keeping an eye out for good places to nurse or change a diaper should the need arise. I noticed another mom behind us. She was alone, a couple of children hanging around her, a toddler in the stroller, and a baby securely sleeping in a sling. I was starstruck. How could any one human manage so many kids all on her own? I was struggling to limp through my days with the one I had.
“You are supermom,” I said in awe. She gave me a gentle and knowing smile. “The first year is the hardest, Mama. You’ve got this,” she said calmly before turning to show her tickets and guiding her caravan of kids through the gate. That was all the conversation entailed. But this encounter with that supermom would become a defining moment in my early days of motherhood.
Her words of encouragement became my mantra. “The first year is the hardest,” I’d remind myself when I felt I was about to break from another sleepless night. “The first year is the hardest,” I’d whisper as I tried to soothe a teething baby. “The first year is the hardest,” I’d cry as I felt the weight of what it meant to live your life for another person instead of yourself. If I could just power through the hardest year, everything would surely be alright.
Slowly, and almost imperceptibly, the months slipped by, and her words became true. It was less the changes in my growing baby that made life easier and more the changes within myself.
With each passing month, my confidence grew. I learned to listen more to my instincts than my doubts. I came to appreciate the changes in my body and admire the miracle it had created and the suffering it had endured for the sake of love. My strength and stamina grew with every sleepless night, and I was in awe at my ability to push on. I found the strength to tune out the critics and do what my heart knew was best for my baby (because everyone has an opinion, and you will never satisfy them all).
There are still hard days, of course. Each season brings new challenges, and I don’t think any mother will ever have an “easy” life once a child enters the scene. But I understand now what that mom meant.
A few years later, I found myself in familiar surroundings. The zoo entrance towered over us, and the sculpture above it cast lion-shaped shadows across the ground. I readjusted my toddler on my hip and gave my 4-year-old’s hand a loving squeeze. My 6-year-old balanced along a curb before kneeling to admire a cool rock. My eyes scanned the area, waiting for my husband to return from running to the car to grab a forgotten water bottle. They landed on a young mom. She held her squalling baby, and the infant’s outfit was coated in the telltale sign of a massive diaper blow-out. Her puffy, sleep-deprived eyes fought tears as she frantically searched through her overstuffed diaper bag for a new onesie. “I remember how hard it was to get out of the house with a new baby,” I said, as I reached over to help hold open the bag. She glanced at my passel of children, and her face held a glimmer of hope when she looked back at me. “You’ve got this, Mama!” I said with a knowing smile. “The first year is the hardest.”
by Kerri Manos 
by Holly Dignen 
by Carly Campbell 
