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| *see below for three burning ???'s |
I've had a baby recently, have you heard? As I've been recovering from another cesarean and dealing with more sleepless nights I'm reminded again of just how hard it is to have a baby. Yes I know just how blessed I am. Raise your hand if you don't know someone fighting heartbreak in the form of infertility? I'm waiting... yep, didn't think so. There's always someone that has it worse than me/ you/ the general population. So my first thought is to stuff down the feelings of frustration and exhaustion and anger in the name of "it could be worse". Well it could be but does that make my feelings less valid?
I'm grateful, I really am. But you know what? I'm also tired. I'm the sole source of comfort for a beautiful and needy baby. If this family wants dinner I'm the one they're looking at. If they want a ride to soccer/ ballet/ the grocery store, it's me. If the house is going to get clean, tag, I'm it.
Let me just insert in here that the husband does more than he really has time for but he's also slaying a big giant dragon in the form of looming unemployment. The kids are also becoming more and more self- sufficient. For example, Anna is perfectly capable of doing laundry. All of the kids can load their dishes in the dishwasher. Grant is great at getting breakfast ready and Jennie has taken Nathan under her wing. She's sort of become his shepherd or sheep dog, one of the two. So the husband does his best. The kids are helpful.
But they still make me crazy. The husband can look at me wrong and I lose it. The kids will make too much noise and I'll blow a gasket. Maggie wakes up for the millionth time in a row and I hit the wall (literally, it hurts my hand). Does it sound like I'm angry and bitter and down on the world? I'm not, like I said I'm grateful. I am very blessed but I think we do ourselves a disservice when we refuse to acknowledge the challenges we face. Especially this roller coaster called postpartum. It's ugly man.
I've been here before so I know that this is just a season, we'll make it through. Until then know that I'm just trying to do my best and sometimes that means that all I've got is a short fuse and dirty laundry.
*How exactly do you hold a baby so that they don't look like a lump? Why did I think those boots were a good idea? And can someone please come weed my garden? It looks gross.
Those first three months after the baby are brutal. Brutal. Then, at least for me, once my hormones start leveling off and I feel like I've got a tiny pinkie hold on my life again, my hair starts falling out from post-partum shed, and then I lose it all over. Both my temper and my hair.
ReplyDeleteOh Mama. Do I remember those days. My babies had colic. They cried their whole first year of life all night. Justin screamed the whole first night in the hospital after he was born. They threw up every time they nursed. And they nursed constantly. They spit out the pacifier and I became the human paci. And they were adorable and chunky and loveable. I was tired, and overjoyed, and scared and exhausted. Did I mention I was tired? Any mother who denies how hard it is to have a new baby is either in denial, or has the easiest baby on earth. But oh how we love them. :) And I would do it all again if I could. Hang in there good Mama. You look amazing, your garden is green and pretty, and that lump of a baby you have is stinkin cute!
ReplyDeleteYou didn't by chance have two children (you're maybe not aware of) that were immediately switched at birth, did you? Because, if so, I think they may have been given to me by mistake! ;)
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DeleteFirst of all: Not having a baby when you want one is hard but in the same breath having a baby when you want one is also hard. They are loud, demanding, needy creatures who will suck the very life from your body if you will let them. For the first six months of Lady A's life people would consistently ask if she was a good baby and my go to answer was this: "She's very beautiful." And it was a good thing or I would have actually sold her to the gypsy's as I so often threaten to do. Second: Someone somewhere always has it worse than we do so it's okay to remind yourself of that when you need to but don't underestimate the therapeutic benefits of wallowing in a deep, dark pit of your own misery from time to time. It's cathartic. Third: you look amazingly beautiful and that sweet baby looks like she adores her mama. So I would say, all in all, you're treading water just fine, my sweet friend!
ReplyDeleteYou are definately not alone. I only have one and I feel like I'm drowning. Every day I wonder if I'm doing things right, keeping him safe, if I'm going to mess this perfect baby up. And day by day we're both still alive, the house a little worse for wear, but still standing.You're awesome, you've got this.
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