A Little Human, Big Discoveries

A little human came into my life, and I started discovering myself all over again.

Although, actually, those discoveries began while I was still pregnant. Suddenly, there were so many questions. Would I manage? How would I manage? What would it all be like?

In my situation, there were probably even more questions, because I no longer had parents I could call and ask about all the things that might seem completely obvious to someone else. I couldn’t really turn to my in-laws with every question either. I have a few aunts and some close friends, but they live far away, abroad.

And at some point, you find yourself a little bit on your own.

With suddenly a thousand questions running through your head, and the feeling that surely you’re supposed to know what to do.

So I started looking for answers. Online, on forums, in articles, in other mothers’ experiences. And I think that was when I first started noticing just how many women share their knowledge and experiences online, simply so that someone else doesn’t have to figure everything out from scratch.

That was an important discovery in itself.

Because maybe there’s a woman on the other side of the screen who is just like me. Without a mother who can say, “Don’t worry, I’ve been through this too.” Without someone close you can call with every question, even the ones that seem completely silly. Or maybe with a mother you do have, but the relationship was never what you needed it to be.

And there I was, already in my forties, suddenly a first-time mother.

With a whole new set of problems, questions and decisions I had no ready answers for.

One of my first big discoveries was that my life had suddenly stopped being just my own.

What I did, what I ate, where and how I slept, how much I slept, how much I exercised, whether I took vitamins, which doctor and hospital I chose, where I would give birth, which tests I would have and which I wouldn’t, whether I wanted a natural birth or a C-section — suddenly, all of it had another person to consider.

Those decisions were no longer just about me.

In a sense, I became responsible for two human beings. And my body became a vessel for a time, meant to bring this little person through the first part of their life.

And on top of all that, there was living abroad. 

As the birth was approaching, it hit me that simply knowing what I wanted wasn't enough. I also had to be able to say it. In German.

I had to learn the words and phrases, figure out what could actually happen, what the possible scenarios were, what might go wrong, and what I should ask. What to say to the doctor. What to say to the midwife. What a specific word I might hear in the hospital could mean.

And I think that was the first time I truly thought about how many people enter such pivotal moments in their lives with the mindset of 'it'll all work out somehow.'"

"Only 'it'll all work out somehow' doesn't always mean it'll be okay. Sometimes it just means we'll get through it somehow."

Giving birth, bringing a child into the world, becoming a parent—these things are far too important to leave entirely to chance and hope that someone will take charge when the moment comes.

Of course, you can have your mom, a sister, a friend, or someone who's already been through it by your side. You can have someone to step in and guide you when you don't know what to do.

But it's also good to prepare yourself.

And when there is no one beside you who can take over in a critical moment, that responsibility becomes even more obvious.

That's when so much really depends on how well prepared you are for what might lie ahead for you and your baby.

And I think it was right at this stage that another challenge came up for me — THE TRUST.

Because on one hand, I already knew I needed to prepare, to know as much as possible, and not just assume that 'it'll all work out somehow.' On the other hand, I couldn't possibly do everything myself.

I had to learn to trust the doctors, the nurses, the midwives. Trust that they knew what they were doing. That if something started happening, someone would notice. That if a problem came up, there would be someone who knew what to do.

And I am deeply grateful for that.

Because things didn't go a hundred percent according to plan. But I had access to healthcare, tests, monitoring, medications, equipment, and people who were there right when they were needed.

It was only upon becoming a mother that I truly realized what a huge privilege it is to give birth in a place where, if complications arise, there is someone who can act.

Because it could have been different.

It could have turned out that there was no access to proper tests, medications, surgery, heart rate monitoring for the baby, or quick checks to see if an infection was developing.

And then something really heavy hit me: that without that medical help, I might not have given birth to her at all. And even if I had, I could have lost her.

We both could have lost our lives.

And I think only then did I truly understand how much it means to be able to know, to prepare, and at the same time, to trust someone who knows more than you when the time comes.

When I was in the neonatal unit with my little one, I hardly slept day or night. But I had plenty of time to think.

I thought about her, about myself, and about the kind of mother I actually wanted to become. 

Soon enough, my whole personal history came rushing back to me. A difficult childhood, strained relationships with my parents, things that were missing, and things that were too much. And it was similar for my husband—his own experiences, relationships with his parents that were far from ideal, and a childhood that left behind its own share of questions.

Perhaps that's part of why we're here today, living abroad, a bit on our own, set apart from parts of our families and from everything familiar.

And suddenly, when this little human arrived, all those stories started taking on a new meaning for us.

Do we even want to be parents? 

What kind of parents do we want to be? 

What do we want to do differently? 

What do we want to keep? 

And what do we definitely want to avoid passing on?

I think that was the exact moment a pivotal shift happened for me. A small personal pivot

Because this is our new chapter - as parents. And we get to write it on our own terms.

We don't have to be the kind of parents our parents were. We don't have to repeat everything just because 'that's how things were done.' We don't have to do what our grandmothers, our mothers, or anyone before us did.

We can choose.

We can look for answers elsewhere—among the people we meet in a new place, in the experiences of other parents, in books, on the internet, in what we observe ourselves.

And from all of that, we can pick what truly feels right for us.

Maybe, paradoxically, it's easier for me to do this precisely because I don't have that entire family network right next to me. I don't have so many people who could say, 'that's how we've always done it love, don't overcomplicate things!'

Together with my husband, I can build our own version of a family. Our own everyday reality. Our own way of caring for this little human and guiding her through the world.

And I think that might be one of my greatest discoveries when it comes to motherhood:

Our past might be part of our story, but it doesn't have to be the script for our future.

And these discoveries—about pregnancy, birth, parenting, relationships, our own beliefs, and how we actually want to live as a family—are far too many to fit into just one post.

And maybe that's a good thing.

Because these small and big discoveries are exactly what I want to write about here.

Maybe something I've uncovered for myself will be useful to someone else, too.