Last night was tough. You dozed a little later than usual and had a hard time going to bed. I didn’t fall asleep until after 3 am and was up again at 6:30 with you. I felt like a failure. I laid on the couch with you, and we cried together. We went through 4 diapers in 5 minutes. Two outfits within an hour. I thought motherhood would look different. I thought motherhood would feel different. Yet there I was, losing my mind, feeling so disconnected from myself. So many worries plagued my mind. Some about you, others about me. Sleep eluded me far longer than I hoped.
You took a long nap this morning, and so did I. We were supposed to meet friends to go walking, but we didn’t. I couldn’t stand to face the world after the night I had. Slowly I woke up to the sounds of you cooing in your crib.
After the night before, when I questioned my ability to be your momma, I approached your room with fear and a twinge of shame, thinking back to mere hours before when I felt so empty and lost. You were waking up and flailing your arms about, like usual. Your eyes opened and were fixed on me. You looked peaceful seeing me there to pick you up.
We did a quick diaper change, and you gave me some sweet smiles. In that moment, all the emptiness, brokenness, shame, and guilt vanished. I realized that you don’t need the perfect mom I was wishing I could’ve been. You need me. Your imperfect mom who cusses more than I should, who cries a lot, who has more quirks than I care to admit, but who loves you so much it brings me to tears.
I fed you, then later ate lunch myself. You were fussy and clingy. I just wanted some peace to make and eat my sandwich. But when I put you down, you screamed bloody murder. Like the neighbors might hear and call CPS on me because they think you’re being tortured screaming. So I held you. You squirmed and screamed some more while I ate, but then I pulled you in tight. Suddenly, you melted into me and went to sleep.
I had a million things to do. Laundry that has needed to be put away for a week. Bottles to wash. Papers to be filed. Clutter to remove. Thank you notes to write. Dinner to prep. On and on and on. I needed this time, so I got up to lay you down. Then your eyes shot open, and you gave me a look that wondered why I was putting you down when you obviously weren’t really that sleepy.
So I held you. To hell with the other things that needed to be done. They’ll still be there later. The errands I needed to run seemed trivial when I considered the fact that for this sliver of time, you need me in a way that you’ll never need me again. You need your mom to hold and snuggle you. You need to be in your safe, familiar place—my arms. Nothing else seemed to matter in that moment.
My sweet little girl, I love you so. Momma will hold you for as long as you’ll let me.
yep, it's the hardest job in the world. You're exhausted, she is trying to figure out how to live in a world of air and milk, day and night. Her sweet little body is trying to figure out how to poop. A doctor told me once that the only thing a newborn knows how to do is sleep, it's just difficult sometimes to get there.
ReplyDeleteThere never has been a perfect mom, they don't exist. Every single mother has cussed and cried and felt just the way you do. Laundry doesn't need to be put away now anyway, who cares. It's not like your entertaining anyone. Just hold and snuggle and hum and rub a soothing hand across her back, her leg, her head, look into those gorgeous eyes and tell her softly about her great grandma Mimi. She already knows your voice from the months she spent below your beating heart. She knows your laugh, your walk, your sighs. Everything else may be new, but you are the thing she knows. Enjoy the time.