By Renate Yotti 
Before I became a mom, I never considered myself a kid person. I knew I wanted a family someday, yet interacting with small humans always felt a little foreign, like trying to understand another species. Even before having kids, my husband was usually the one rolling around on the floor with the little ones whereas I’d be wrapped up in a deep conversation somewhere.
So, when two friends once told me, “You’re going to be an amazing mom—like, next-level supermom!” I laughed it off, flattered but completely unconvinced. The truth was, I felt miles away from the kind of person they were describing. When I finally had my daughter at 40, I made some unexpected discoveries.
The day I held that pink little being in my arms for the first time, I remember almost commanding myself, “Hold her, show her you love her. You’re her mom!” Yet I felt a profound sense of unfamiliarity. I knew what I had to do, but most of my actions felt rehearsed and robotic, and far from natural.
While hubby took to fatherhood like a fish to water, there I was, awkwardly trying to position the baby on my breast and not sure how to even talk to her. Filled with doubts, suddenly I regretted not having changed a diaper before or even having babysat anyone else’s kid. How the heck was I going to raise this little person?
As the days and weeks rolled by, I cared for my baby, nursed her, rocked her to sleep, and showed her off to others as they ooh-ed and aah-ed over her. Yet, it still felt so foreign—like I was a stagehand in my own story, watching from the wings instead of stepping fully into my new role.
A few weeks into motherhood, this is what my diary entry said: Wow, she’s mine! She is my daughter, my own flesh and blood! It might sound insignificant to some, but this was the first time I could say that and feel it in my bones . . . or at least start feeling it.
I was experiencing matrescence (a word I only learned recently!): the process of becoming a mother. I was in the throes of it, and it was growing—not overnight like Jack’s Beanstalk—but rather like regular plants, slowly but surely.
As I got better at changing diapers (I now know which side is the front), putting my child to sleep, and really just feeling comfortable with her, I was not only welcoming her into my world but also a completely new version of myself as a mother. I am still the same woman, yet profoundly and indelibly changed by motherhood.
I used to disqualify myself because I didn’t have an innate connection with children. But turns out, you don’t have to be a kid person to be a good mom. You just have to show up every day—willing to love, to learn, and to grow into the mother you’ve always been. And that, I’ve realized, is more than enough.
by Melissa Bowers 
by Amanda Sullivan 
by Maree Reams 
