Approaching the end of my maternity leave, like most moms, I had all the feels.
Conflicted about returning to work. Sad that my maternity leave was coming to an end. But most of all, and most unexpected: gut-wrenching disappointment.
My visions for maternity leave were grand. (Seasoned moms would argue foolish.) I envisioned tender moments with my new baby — holding her, lying on the floor next to her while she cooed. I would cook my favorite recipes again, the time-consuming ones that my toddler’s mischief have lately made impossible. I’d work on my website. I’d organize the bathroom closet (good one, right?) I’d write. Hell, I’d even get out to ski on a weekday or two.
Maternity leave would be just the respite from “real life” I needed. I’d do all of the things that I’m never able to do because, well: Kid #1. Work. Life.
As you could probably guess…my maternity leave was none of these things.
My new baby, while adorable, had colic. So, for the first eight weeks, she was either sleeping, eating, or inconsolably screaming. Most feedings would end with her crying and writhing, and I spent hours researching and trying things to make her more comfortable.
I recognize there are far worse ailments for a newborn to suffer, and we (thankfully) eventually worked through the rough phase, but still, it wasn’t until my baby was about nine weeks old that I truly got to savor, and start to get to know, my precious new child. She’s an amazing little thing with the concentration of a hawk, and a wise twinkle in her eye. Getting just five weeks of her baby-magic felt like a tease.
What’s more, in some kind of twisted joke and unlucky timing, my toddler’s school happened to be closed for nearly four weeks of my three-month leave. That meant I spent about one-third of my leave co-parenting my toddler, in addition to caring for the baby. My toddler is the kind of child people like to call…“spirited” — and he was in the eye of the storm when it came to big adjustments and big emotions. We had a tornado of a toddler on our hands.
We’ve (again, thankfully) come out on the other side, but just remembering those two weeks when my husband’s work trips left me solo with the newborn and tornado toddler, make me shake my head in disbelief that we all survived.
Needless to say, my maternity leave in no way resembled what I’d envisioned. I experienced a fraction of the precious moments I expected, not nearly the outdoor adventures I’d hoped for, and checked off a scant few of my “to-do’s.”
And therein lies the disappointment.
In the final days of my maternity leave, I couldn’t stop beating myself up for making such poor progress against my to-do list. How did I let all of that time pass and get so little done?! What happened to all of the time?! It fell short of my expectations in every way.
For a good two weeks, I stewed over it. I was aware my attitude was terrible, but I couldn’t shake it. I’d never get that time back, and quite frankly, I got nothing done. I felt robbed. And lazy.
And finally, after lots of thought, I snapped to my senses. I realized my perspective was totally warped. Completely shortsighted. After all that stewing, I had it all wrong.
There’s no way I didn’t get anything done. After all, I was busy. The. Whole. Time.
As I started to parse out what happened, I began to slowly unearth the self-compassion that I’d been missing all along. I finally viewed my experience through the eyes of a good friend looking in — and I saw an entirely different story.
I saw a woman bravely deliver her daughter by emergency cesarean. I saw her calmly, lovingly feed her baby every 2–3 hours, day and night, for three months without a break. I saw her worrying, trying every remedy, until her baby’s shrieks relented. I saw her coordinate a family portrait, wrap Christmas presents, bake her husband’s birthday cake, and host her toddler’s third birthday party. I saw her give her baby baths, read books to her toddler, and clean up after both of them — hourly. I saw her fully recover from abdominal surgery.
I got an unbelievable amount done. They just weren’t things on my “list.”
And at once, it became clear: my to-do list is just that — a list of things to do. It tracks tasks, but it is by no means a roadmap for how to live life, nor a measuring stick to evaluate time well spent. My to-do list reminds me what things need to be done, but it certainly isn’t an outline of the things I care about most.
Coming to my senses, I summoned a healthier perspective: what I accomplished during those three months was not minuscule, but remarkable.
Maybe my closet, my abs, and my website don’t look great — but my baby smiles when she sees me, and my toddler gives me the best running hug when I pick him up from school.
And to that end, my maternity leave went exactly the way it was supposed to go — immersed in family. Giving my heart to them. The beautiful memories, and the messy moments. Nowhere on my to-do list had I written: (1) Nourish my baby, (2) spend 1-on-1 time with my toddler, (3) heal my body, (4) connect with my husband. Yet, these were the activities that reflected my deepest values, and they occupied the vast majority of my time.
Every evening, I have the habit of reflecting on what I accomplished during the day. What did I get done? How much progress did I make? And much like my experience with maternity leave, I’m often hard on myself if I’m not “productive.”
But over the last several weeks, when the urge arises, I’ve instead been forcing myself to assess my day through a totally different lens.
A successful day is no longer the one with the most crossed-off tasks, but one spent living out my values. One where, when I’m on my death bed, I’ll find peace knowing that I carried myself in a way I’d be proud of, and that I dedicated my time to the things I cared most about — even if I got very little “done.” Was I the mother, co-worker, partner, friend I’d be proud of? Were my hours spent doing activities that support the life I want to live? That’s the kind of productivity that counts.
So in the end, my maternity leave helped me internalize something I knew all along but struggled to live in practice: I am so much more than my to-do list. My worth is far greater than the number of tasks I complete. And just because something wasn’t on my to-do list, doesn’t mean it wasn’t time well spent.
Crossing off tasks is a hollow measurement for a life well lived. And in so many cases, the things that keep us from “getting stuff done,” are the very things we care about most. With newfound intention and clarity, I now refuse to overlook those things in the moment, and I will no longer discredit them when I reflect back.
The to-do list probably won’t go away. But the life I want lives beyond it. And this is the one life we get.
*Essay originally published April 2020 at libbyludlow.net
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