It’s wild how motherhood rewires you

 It’s wild how motherhood rewires you.

Not just your schedule.
Not just your body.

Your memory.

Before kids, memories were dates and photos and milestones.

Now they’re smells.

The baby shampoo you don’t even use anymore but can’t throw away.
The way their head smelled after a bath.
The detergent on a tiny sleeper you found in the back of a drawer.

They’re sounds.

The rhythm of the rocker in the middle of the night.
The white noise machine that once meant exhaustion and now feels like nostalgia.
The little sigh they made when they finally fell asleep on your chest.

They’re songs.

That random lullaby you had on repeat.
The song that played in the car the day you brought them home.
The one that still makes your throat tighten because you can see the version of them that doesn’t exist anymore.

Motherhood doesn’t just give you memories.

It brands them into you.

So years later, you’ll be standing in a grocery store, or driving alone with the radio on, and suddenly you’re not there anymore.

You’re back in the dim light of a nursery.
Back when their whole body fit against your chest.
Back when you were so tired you thought you’d never survive it.

And somehow…

You miss it.

That’s the part no one tells you.

Motherhood doesn’t just change how you love.

It changes how you remember.