When I first heard Lady Gaga’s “Marry the Night” I was hugely pregnant, hugely depressed and hugely uncomfortable. First I’d had to miss Gaga’s Atlanta concert due to pregnancy complications (yes, I was absolutely planning to attend the show at seven-and-a-half months pregnant dressed as a silver disco ball). Now I was barely able to leave the house.
If I hadn’t realized before that my life and body were no longer my own, I was now getting pummeled with this notion on a daily basis with every pelvic-crushing trip to the toilet or spasm of back pain.
I’ve never considered myself a tough or brave person, and I really didn’t know how I was going to make it to the end of this pregnancy, nevermind motherhood. I worried I would be a terrible mother. I worried all my childless (and most of them were) friends would forget me. I worried I would hate this new sleepless, lonely, poop-coated phase of life.
Then Gaga’s “Marry the Night” came scorching through my headphones and my eyes welled with hormonal tears at the strength and resilience of this song. It had an effect on me that no music ever has. It made me feel empowered, confident. It told me I could handle anything, overcome anything, and be anything—including a good mom. I had always dearly loved Gaga, but she had never touched me in this way before. And I think it’s because she put her own heart, soul, everything into this song. I was inspired. I knew I would make it.
My son is the most wonderful thing I have ever accomplished, and the dismal life I sometimes pictured for myself as a suburban mother is not even close to reality. Yes, it is the hardest job in the world, but it’s the one I know I was meant to do. And sometimes on the tough days, I just crank “Marry the Night” to scream the lyrics along with Ms. Germanotta and my spirit is instantly lifted.
Leslie Dunn blogs at SnarkMom.com.