This year, a mother was born.
Not just a baby. Not just a new schedule. But a whole new woman.
And I grieved her… the old me. The one who could sleep in. Who had time to think. Who wasn’t always needed. The one who could walk out the door without packing half the house. The one who didn’t cry in the shower, or forget who she was in the mirror. She was gone. And in her place stood someone raw, rewired, and unknown.
Motherhood didn’t just change my life. It changed me. It cracked me open. Broke than rebuilt my nervous system. Stole my freedom but gave me the chance to become someone I never imagined I could be.
We archive our baby’s firsts: the first smile, the first steps, the first words. But what about ours?
What about her first solo night?
Her first brave cry into the unknown?
Her first real laugh after heartbreak?
Her first time holding it all together when she thought she might fall apart?
This year, I didn’t just become a mom. I became softer. Stronger. Wiser. I became a survivor. And I came out someone new. And I don’t want to forget her.
So I made something for her. For the version of me who held our entire world with a broken heart & in trembling hands… and still showed up.
We’re told that our children will want to look back at their first year. That they’ll smile at these memories one day and understand all the sacrifices we made. But I don’t think that’s what a mother’s memory book should be for. I think it should be for her.
To honor the woman who kept going when no one was clapping. To remember the version of you that laughed through exhaustion, cleaned through heartbreak, and cooked dinner while quietly breaking down. To look back at the moments you felt invisible and remind yourself that you were always the main character. Because motherhood is selfless. But it shouldn’t make you disappear. And if we don’t carve out space to witness and celebrate our own becoming, who will?
This book isn’t just a collection of cute moments. It’s a monument to your resilience. To the woman who didn’t quit… even when the village never showed up. To the version of you who held everything together with no instruction manual, no backup plan, and no guarantee of being seen.
And no, I’m not saying we should glamorize the unpaid labor, the trauma, the loneliness that far too many mothers face. But I am saying this: just because you love your child doesn’t mean you have to pretend the hardest parts didn’t happen. And just because it was hard doesn’t mean you didn’t grow something beautiful… in you.
I’m not the same woman I was a year ago. I’m more. More honest. More present. More resilient. More powerful than I’ve ever been.
And one day, I want my son to remember the woman who transformed, who stepped up, and who showed up to raise him. Not just the baby book we made together, but the mother who made herself, too.
Xoxo bisou,
Madison
@madbadting
The new Tinybeans photo store is available on iOS, with photo books and calendars that pull photos straight from your private journal—right on your phone. Order by December 8 to receive in the US in time for the holidays.
