When I was nine months pregnant, a colleague of mine informed me that pregnancy didn’t slow his wife down. Good for her. To be fair, pregnancy barely slowed me down either. I worked out the entire time, kept up with my too-many jobs, submitted my doctoral dissertation, and even recorded the audiobook for Spirit-Filled Singing while dealing with worst of my first trimester nausea.
But having a baby?
Having a baby has slowed me down.
It’s made me slower to be pressured into gigs I don’t really want and slower to cave to performance anxiety. I have bigger concerns now.
It’s made me slower to fret about my body or my hair or the deepening lines on my forehead. I am created to nurture and feed, not just to be seen.
It’s made me slower to judge families for struggling into church late and slower to be annoyed when a baby dares to cry during service. I am part of the car-seat crew now. And crying? Well, it’s just what babies do.
It’s made me slower to pop into shops, perusing and purchasing what I don’t need and what will not bring lasting pleasure. My arms are overflowing with better things now.
It’s made me slower to throw on a podcast to drown out the silence. Silence, punctuated only by thumb-sucking and tiny snores, has become unspeakably precious.
It’s made me slower to scroll mindlessly past horrific news and slower to push through heavy emotions. I have joined that intangible fellowship of mothers who feel the weight of each other’s responsibility.
It has made me slower to scorn others, no matter how messy or needy or bitter they may be. I see now that everybody is somebody’s baby.
Ryanne Molinari 