Nothing can prepare you for parenthood is a phrase often shared with a knowing half-smile that belies the over-exhaustion in the wake of superiority (or is it pride?) . Replying with hollow grins, I secretly wanted to smack every single person who uttered that phrase. And yet, they were right. For the record, also totally justified in their self-satisfaction.

It turns out that something as ubiquitous and ‘natural’ as growing, giving birth to, and caring for your progeny has a long adjustment period.

It’s not just the changing diapers, the schedules, the meal times, the money, the dressing, the undressing, the endless battle for sleep. It’s not just the negotiation of how your time is spent, and how to best care for your family, your home, and your future. A year in, and I still don’t feel like I’ve joined the ranks of those we call “parents” or “mothers.”

This series, made from moments stolen during the odd nap or distraction, is a reckoning and a tool. It’s an attempt to connect who I was with who I have become, now that my life is filled with the incessant though profound mundanity of clearing scraps of food from a high chair, finding matching socks, nursing, teaching, exposing, loving–performing the theater of life to an awed audience of one.

Kiælena

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