I naively went into motherhood with the idea that there would be this cuddly baby that loved you unconditionally, was fun to play with, and any experience with our nieces and nephews would make this whole motherhood thing a piece of cake. I got the wake up call pretty quickly that this was not going to be a walk in the park.
It's a lot harder than I could have ever imagined. It's by far the hardest job I have ever had. It makes me want to call my momma almost every day and say, "Thank you so much." Thanks for having me, for staying up with me and getting no sleep, for enduring tears and screaming, for allowing me to cover you with my bodily excretions, and for my coming out in the end feeling loved, secure, and happy. It blows my mind that my mother was only 17 when she had me, she was basically a single parent, and I was colicky. I don't know how in the world she did it. My momma is pretty amazing.
There are days when I'm covered in spit up and breast milk, I've only slept for 4 1/2 hours of interrupted sleep, and where tears, not the baby's, are part of my day. I should have known that we had ourselves a firecracker when she came into the world screaming. She's my little angry bird. Nola wants to be held all the time and on my breast constantly. I am an open buffet all day long. Your body is definitely no longer yours. Some days all I want is to shower and it doesn't happen at all or not until late at night.
She fights sleep like no other baby I have ever seen. Make that, no other toddler, that I have seen. One night she went to bed at 10:30, which is amazing, but woke up around 12:30 and then stayed up until 3:30. Her eyes would close and she would immediately start crying. She spends a lot of the day fussing. I have honestly thought, "This child is miserable and hates us." Absurd, I know. Things like this are bound to happen when you are sleep deprived and slowly moving towards delirium.
Those are the bad days. I'm not trying to scare any soon-to-be moms out there. I'm just being honest. I think the lack of honesty sets up other women for a false sense of what it's like in the beginning. Now, I know, some people have it easier than others. If you do have it easy, please don't tell all your new mother friends how good you have it. Trust me, they won't like it. Like my mother-in-law, who had babies who slept through the night at 4 weeks old and who had ample amounts of breast milk that just flowed with ease, and has told me all of this one hundred times. I love her to death, but I swear, I have never wanted to punch someone in the face so much. I finally told her that I'm happy for her, but after talking with other mothers, I know she was just very lucky. There's no need to rub that in my face. Your babies (sorry, honey!) were just weird. Also, I think the bad times (like labor and my almost 4th degree tearing and episotomy which faded almost instantly when I saw my baby girl) fade out of your mind because the love you feel is just incredible.
There are good days. The days when your baby is crying and all you have to do is get into sight or talk and they hear your voice and instantly are soothed. Aaron has called me the baby whisperer on more than one occasion. I'm no magician. My girl just knows her momma. That love is so beyond anything I have ever felt. It's beyond anything you can imagine. This love is so huge that it can't be contained in your body. It's living and breathing little person that you can grab hold of.
For all the standing up in the kitchen inhaling your food because it may be your only opportunity to eat and your child is psychic and knows when you are about eat and for all the sleepless nights or constant consoling of tears, there is the tiny hand that grips your finger and holds on for dear life. For all the unbathed days you spend covered in spit up and poop, there is a baby that sighs with happiness as she latches on to your breast. Do I need to even mention the baby smell? It's sent from heaven. I wish I could bottle it because I would be a millionaire. For all the bad days, there is the cooing and baby talk, smiling (if only in their sleep), and watching their eyes widen while discovering new things, like the ceiling fans. Being the first to see them discover everything for the first time is pretty amazing. Nola laughed in her sleep the other day and I just about died. Just so you know, it takes one of these things to counter act an entire bad day or, for that matter, turn a bad day into a good day.
My world has morphed into all things Nola. Gone, if only temporarily, is our life of picnics, bike rides, going out for a beer or a jog or an afternoon movie on a whim, but in it's place is something so much more rewarding. We are no longer a pair, but a trio. And years from now, when you mention this blog entry, I'll deny it or say something, "Like I think you've mistaken, it was never bad," because my baby girl will wrap her arms around my neck and say, "I love you, mommy," and all those bad things will fade and I'll only remember a cooing baby, who wrapped her little fingers around mine and sighed when ever she was near me.
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