The motherhood they don’t prepare you for

There’s a version of motherhood we’re shown before we’ve had a chance to live it.

The photographs. The tiny clothes. The swollen belly. The first hold. The love.

And then there’s the version you actually live.

The one that can be beautiful and brutal, sometimes in the same hour.

I think that’s the motherhood we talk about less.

Pregnancy changes your body. And that can be hard.

Your body changes in ways you can’t really control. You might look at yourself and feel amazed by what it’s doing, while also feeling frightened by how unfamiliar it’s become.

Both things can be true.

I photograph maternity in London often, and one thing I’ve learned is that women don’t need to be told they should suddenly love every part of themselves just because they’re pregnant.

Sometimes the fear is real.

Sometimes you need time to recognise this new version of yourself.

You can grieve the person you were before

This is one of the things I wish we talked about more.

You can desperately want your baby and still miss your old life.

Your freedom. Your body. Your relationship as it was. Your ability to leave the house without thinking about feeds and naps and bags and timings.

You can love who you are becoming and still grieve who you were.

That isn’t weakness.

It’s honesty.

Motherhood can be incredibly lonely

And not simply because you don’t have enough people around you.

You can have a partner. Family. Friends. People who love you.

And still feel alone.

Because so much of motherhood happens inside you.

You are the one noticing the tiny changes. Carrying the mental load. Listening for the cry. Wondering if something is normal. Watching the clock at 3am.

There are parts of it nobody else can fully understand, even when they’re right there with you.

The love doesn’t always arrive in one enormous rush

We hear so many stories about meeting your baby and feeling an immediate, overwhelming love.

Sometimes that happens.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes you meet this tiny stranger and the love grows quietly as you learn them.

A look. A smell. The weight of them against you. The way they settle differently in your arms.

Love can arrive slowly and still become enormous.

You become fluent in a language nobody taught you

Eventually you begin to know things without quite knowing how.

That cry means hunger.

That movement means tired.

That expression means they are about to lose it.

You learn the language of one particular human being, and for a while you may be the person who understands it better than anybody else in the world.

There’s something extraordinary about that.

You may not recognise yourself for a while

Motherhood changes more than your body.

It can alter your relationships, your priorities, your confidence, your work, your sense of time and sometimes your sense of who you are.

You may look at your old life and wonder where that woman went.

She hasn’t necessarily disappeared.

You’re just becoming someone else as well.

And I think that is what so much of motherhood is.

Not one feeling.

Not uncomplicated happiness.

Not gratitude every second.

But contradiction.

Love and grief.

Beauty and exhaustion.

Closeness and loneliness.

Wanting time for yourself, then missing them when you get it.

Two things can be true at once.

Maybe that is the motherhood they don’t prepare you for.

About the author

Samantha is an award-winning London newborn, maternity and family photographer with fifteen years of experience and MPA Licentiate accreditation. She photographs families in their homes across London, creating calm, baby and children-led sessions that feel natural, considered and true to each family.