Baby is a delight and full of personality and quirks. Motherhood however is, by turns, messy and fresh, slow and invigorating, boring and busy. I've never felt as unsure of myself as I have these last nine months, or as certain of purpose. Not the purpose of my entire life, no, it's not my style to pin all my worth on one undertaking, but sure of the reason for getting out of bed every day, the reason why I will continue to work, the reason why I want to create a beautiful life. It's all for my family, our unit of three.
It's lonely though, sometimes even with people around. It's isolating and periodically friendless, and there's an overwhelming feeling that everyone around you is judging everything you do. I disliked receiving advice before I became a mother, and now I positively loathe it. It's likely a personality failing, but my experience isn't the same as others, and support is better than advice and opinions, well-meant or not.
The next three months will likely be much the same as the last nine, except with the knowledge that I will soon entrust the care of my baby to someone else for eight hours a day, five days a week. That'll be anxiety-ridden and liberating simultaneously - more to add to the list of opposites of which motherhood seems to be made.