I Think I've Become a Grown-Up

Well, it's official. I'm a mom. It was definitely a transition to no longer just be known as Jana Watson three and a half years ago when I married my husband David. In addition to being the daughter of Janet and Warren Watson, I became Jana Villanueva, or another way of saying it, "David's wife." But in addition to that mega life change, nine weeks ago I became Jana Watson Villanueva, the mother of Blake Marshall Villanueva. And by Joe, I think I've become a grown-up.

I wasn't ready to have a baby. Pregnancy took me off guard completely. It wasn't my plan, and I didn't welcome the reality of it readily. I wanted to be happy. Pregnancy is a gift from God; I know that, but I had so many things I wanted to do first. The gift of new life was acknowledged by my soul, but the timing was premature according to my mind and heart, and I don't think I really came to terms with it all until several weeks after that new life arrived. That was just my experience, in the raw.

While pregnant, I deeply missed freely participating in the things that I believed identified me, like playing soccer, riding my bike, running long distances, and pursuing a career in medicine. I thrive on being independent and spontaneous. I love coffee and chocolate and have always firmly believed that the intake of both, especially at the same time, can cure any bad day. And I really, really appreciate the migraine drug Imitrex, for without it, I would have a very difficult time enjoying my life. Pregnancy interfered with all the things I loved and held dear. First, I realized that week-long migraines were just going to have to be accepted since I couldn't take Imitrex while pregnant. In fact, I celebrated my positive pregnancy test by laying on the couch in extreme pain for several days with a migraine I had no way of treating.

Strike One.

Then I had to face the reality that the Physician Assistant School I had worked so hard to get acceptance to was no longer going to be my destination in the fall. No, instead I would be eight months pregnant wobbling around peeing every half hour feeling miserable. So many questions ran through my mind as the admission department told me the best they could offer was a year's deferral. Would I be able to go to PA school with a one year old while David was still tied down by medical school? That seemed absurdly difficult. What would I do for child care--all we have is loan money! I began to feel like it was God's idea of a practical joke to gift me with the ability to understand science and create in me a passion for medicine only to ask me to bury it in the sand.

Strike Two.

Next, I had to say goodbye to the marathon and century I was training for with my husband. I kept running for most of my pregnancy, even though it hurt every step by the end, and I was going so slow it was really a classified shuffle. But it was the century race that was the hardest. The day David signed up without me was crushing, and I don't think I could have explained the depth of disappointment I was feeling inside to anyone. I felt so limited. So trapped. I slowly lost the permission to play soccer as the months went on. By the third trimester, I couldn't even walk over a couple miles because I was in so much pain.

Strike Three. How many strikes are there until you're OUT?! Too many loses to mourn all at once.

I could write all day about the hardships I faced emotionally while growing baby Blake inside of me. It took me almost six months just to embrace the fact that this was God's plan for this season of my life. Then I began to fear the future. I feared childbirth, I feared parenthood, and most of all, I feared losing myself in the mom role. I have seen too many women get completely lost in caring for their children. And, I wasn't ready to give up my independence. I like being able to go on spontaneous dates with my husband. I like going out for a run or ride whenever I feel like it or hitting up a coffee shop to journal or chat with a friend. I cherish hot showers, reading books, road trips, going out to eat every once in a while, and going on exploratory hikes. And I am very comfortable with being a student. I like having time to myself to study and master material and then to be tested on that material and get a score that quantifies my efforts and helps me be satisfied with my work. I love all these things, and I was no ready to give them up. It made me cry to think about it.

This is just the honest truth. And if God has taught me anything over the past few years it's been to be honest with him and others about my life and what goes on in my heart. It's the only way to grow and it's the surest way for God to receive glory as he brings good out of my messiness. I had a friend tell me that I should not complain about being pregnant and be grateful out of respect for all the women who try to get pregnant but can't. I remember feeling like forcing myself to feel like that was no more helpful than for me to always clean my plate because there are starving children in Africa. I want to be grateful. But I want to be authentically grateful, and I believe that the Spirit of God within me is powerful enough to handle my struggles, and He can take my ingratitude and change my heart over time and enable me to choose thankfulness by His strength and grace. Then who gets the glory? Me, for being so good at guilting myself into telling people I feel grateful for something that inside really sucks? Or God, for working inside of my heart to change my attitude to be like His? You get the picture.

So now, nine weeks postpartum, I think I've become a grown-up. And by that I mean I've surrendered to the death of self that God is asking of me in order to care for my baby during this season of my life. I've matured into motherhood, not quite as gracefully as I would have liked, but the transition is occurring slowly but surely, and I can say I am finally grateful to be Jana Watson Villanueva, David's wife and Blake's mom. I am learning that my identity is not wrapped up in the athletics, the academics, or in the things I can and cannot do or eat. Nor is my identity defined by my relationship to my parents, husband or child. Who I am is  unswervingly and eternally rooted in the way I uniquely display the image of God. No one else can live my story. It was written by God especially for me, and the glory He brings to himself through my failures and sufferings is what my journey on this earth is about. The things he teaches me about himself, myself, and others is what makes life worth living.

I can laugh at myself now as I seemingly have "new mom" plastered across my forehead as I easily go a full week without a shower, get excited when I can check off one item per day from my to-do list, and carry a diaper bag and breast pads wherever I go. However, I am being refined by my Maker in the process. In the midst of having to let go of my independence, spontaneity, and sense of control over the details in my life, I am finding a form of freedom I did not expect. I am gradually setting perfectionism aside (cause who has the time or sanity for that?) and letting the grace of God reign. The depression that darkens the door of my soul so often and the anxieties that war against my mind day in and day out are not going to paralyze me forever. I am learning to take my anxious thoughts to the God of my life who can be trusted, even when I'm in pain or experience loss.

As a new mom, I feel constantly exhausted and weak, overwhelmed and inadequate. I feel like I can do nothing in my own strength...and this is such a God-glorifying place to be! I can rest in His ability to work in my life, whether or not I can successfully breastfeed my child for a year, become a medical professional, or run 26.2 miles. I am humbled by how much self-denial and hard work caring for a baby can be, and I am in awe of all the moms who care for their children day in and day out because they love them. I respect and appreciate my own mom more as well as I experience the sacrifice it takes have the responsibility to care for another human being. A lot of the things that used to matter so much and seem so big and so important now seem so insignificant and small. And as it goes with all hard things in the life of a Christian, God is using it all for good to make me more like Him and to prepare me for whatever next season my life holds. He's the author, of the good chapters and the hard.

Well, I'm a mom. I'm a grown-up. I accept it, and I trust that it'll keep getting better with time.