I remember joking with a fellow surf mama in the line-up, as we watched a spunky young teen paddle around us and into a wave (again), "We should tell her we're mothers now, and mothers don't have a lot of time to surf!" Our babies were on the beach with their dads, who eagerly awaited their turn to paddle out before the sun set. It was probably almost time for another feeding, too, since lying chest-down on the board grew more uncomfortable with every paddle.
We laughed to ourselves. Before having a baby, we'd surf for hours. We might've gone home for a mid-day nap, but a second session was always a given. Time felt limitless even though days of non-stop surfing flew by as quickly as they began. And instead of thinking about baby, we spent time thinking about getting to the nose of the board or positioning ourselves just over the reef, where the waves reformed nicely.
I also found myself thinking about that youthful teen surfer. That used to be me chasing waves at the peak, but here I was sitting farther down the line-up and too exhausted from, well, being a new mother. My window to surf that afternoon had been drawing to a quick close, just as quickly as the sun sank toward the horizon. I had to catch at least one good wave this session, even if I felt tired and out of sorts.
As I paddled for a small inside wave, a familiar sensation took over. The little peeler gently propelled me into a gliding start. I pushed myself up off of the board, like I'd done a million times before–except this time, I struggled! My arms had never felt so weak. Somehow I managed to get to my feet; though, the extra wobbly ride probably looked far from graceful. Discouraged and frustrated, I caught it all the way to shore.
It took months before I found my groove in surfing again. I hadn't been on a board in more than eight or so months. I gave props to the preggo surfing mamas. I just didn't feel comfortable doing it, so I went on daily swims and walks instead. As my belly grew bigger, that new size-small bikini I splurged on pre-pregnancy got pushed deeper into the closet. There was no way I'd fit that thing again.
Getting back into physical shape, however, didn't feel as important as getting back into mental surfing shape. I didn't work out but continued daily baby-paced strolls. Nursing also helped burn calories. But after a few discouraging surfs, I just didn't feel like getting back into it. I found more comfort in staying active on land because it didn't challenge me in ways that surfing unexpectedly did after giving birth.
Eventually, my super-awesome husband got me back in the water. He made it easy–from packing the baby bag to loading up the car. He even waxed my board, although that started when we first dated. What a gentleman, right? All I had to do was suit up and paddle out. As effortless as it sounded, I still felt drained but forced myself to catch a few anyway.
The more we went surfing, the easier it got for me–both physically and mentally. It was like rebuilding muscle memory and confidence. I started to regain my strength in every stroke and rediscover my balance in every glide. Our daughter also got older and less dependent on us. She could play in the sand with friends or help herself to beach snacks, so my mind wasn't constantly filled with that bundle of joy on the beach. Instead, we found a new joy in paddling her out to the line-up with us.
And while we felt like we came full circle as new surf parents sharing the stoke, so did my journey as a new surf mama. Patience had guided me through motherhood, just as much as it steered me through frustrating post-baby surf sessions. I just needed to remind myself of how it would all pay off in the end. Whether it was an epic wave or a full night of rest, the product of patience was always worth the journey.
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