I didn’t want to be another mommy blog with another piece on how wonderfully sloppy this whole motherhood business is – but, well – whatever. Here I am and here this is. Take it or leave it.
My introduction to motherhood has been laced with moments of joy and awe along with frustration, impatience, and tears. It’s been a rocky one. After my near perfect pregnancy and relatively easy labor, postpartum hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe it was because Amata was tongue tied, underweight, colic, and “spirited” as they say. Maybe it was because I suffered from a heavy dose of PPD/A. And yes I just shared that, it’s more common than you think. Maybe it’s because I am young, far from family…yada yada yada. The list can go on. Frankly it doesn’t really matter why the last 5 months have been challenging – it only matters what I’m doing to take care of myself and my family now.
As a first time mom, I struggle with – how should I put it – anxiety about anything and everything, but particularly why my kid isn’t sleeping. I guess I always envisioned that babies were difficult to get to sleep, but once you got them there you could just place them placidly in their crib. And well, I don’t know, when they woke up again (maybe 6 hours or so later) you would peacefully waltz into their nursery and nurse them in a rocking chair, moonlight streaming in while you lovingly kiss their furry little head until they doze off again.
Then I had Amata. I can’t tell you what kind of sleeper she is because it literally depends on the week. We have gone from bed sharing to having her sleep in the car seat (these were the early, early days) to being in the bassinet next to us, to some kind of hybrid co sleeping/bed sharing to making my husband sleep on the couch so just Amata and I can share the bed – who knows what it will be next week. Parenthood doesn’t just humiliate your opinions once. But over and over and over again and frequently on the same issue. I no longer say “I’ll never ___________.”
Motherhood rocked my world, the transition was shocking. Those first three months felt like time had been placed in a filter of molasses. Will I ever eat at a table again? Will she ever stop screaming? Will breastfeeding ever get easier? Will I ever connect with my husband again?
The short answer is yes, we eat at the table. (Most of the time.) Amata is still “spirited” but the hours of screaming have waned (for the most part). Breastfeeding is the least of our worries now and my husband and I are adjusting to our new relationship. While it’s different than before, it has a sweetness and dedication much deeper than on our wedding day. And I often think – this is only the beginning!
After I read just about any book on the shelf that involved the words, “baby” and “sleep” and “through the night”, I resolved to not pick up another book. But I now like to add an exception. It’s not only okay, but it’s nourishing for me to read anything that serves as an encouraging voice. Not telling me what to do, or how to do it – rather reinforcing that while this season is incredibly challenging, I could miss it, if I don’t remember to look around every once in a while.
The sweet little smiles in the morning as my baby girl coos in the bed with us. The quiet, intimate cuddles in the middle of the day when I’m nursing her to nap. Her precious little toes and deliciously chubby fingers. That shout out in the dead of the night that says, “Mama, mama, where are you?” These moments are fleeting. And as exhausted as I am, it’s so cliche, but one day she won’t need me like that anymore. Those months zoom, and I know they’ll bleed into years.
I’ve been so caught up in getting my baby to sleep and behave like the books tell me to that I forgot to enjoy everything else. The trenches are hard enough, I don’t need the extra pressure of some doctor in some far away land telling me I’m ruining my child because she’s not napping at the drop of a hat on a structured, perfect schedule. That works for some moms and their babies, but I guess it just hasn’t worked that way for us as of now.
Amata is well on her way to crawling. We’ll probably be starting solids soon, and after that, well, she’ll basically be headed to college. So sometimes I look at my exhausted face in the mirror, pajamas with spit up on them and hair that hasn’t been combed and say, “Hey, mama – there’s a lot to love here.”
These trenches are unrelenting and mammoth, but they were dug by love.