Let me preface this by saying that I am truly happy to be lucky enough to be your mom. I love you, I absolutely do. But being your mom is so incredibly difficult, Baby.
I am writing this to document my journey. I want you to know what I am going through so that when it is your turn you won't feel like a failure if things aren't perfect.
I remember calling a good friend of mine after she had her baby. She had been dealing with infertility for so long that her son was a miracle, yet she wasn't completely happy at the time. I couldn't understand it, but I do now. You will get it too one day, and I will be there by your side to help you get through it.
So many moms post pictures of themselves on social media with their newborns and everyone is smiling and happy, myself included. No one ever talks about the lump in the back of your throat when you can't get your baby to stop crying. I feel so defeated and inadequate when you cry, Baby. I know that you can't help it as it is the only way you can communicate right now, but it wears on me.
You cry when you're hungry so I stick my boob in your face. You cry when you're tired and I say to you, "Little girl, just go to sleep. No one is keeping you up." You cry when you're not being held so I swoop you up in my arms. You cry when I'm not walking around while you're being held so I find myself taking laps around the kitchen island while I try to get dinner ready for the night.
I find myself whispering in your ear, "I love you, Baby," whenever you cry to calm myself.
I spend my time begging you to just take a nap long enough so that I can use the bathroom or eat a sandwich for lunch. My days are monotonous: nursing, changing diapers, rocking you to sleep. I count down the minutes until Dad gets home so that I can have just a moment of rest and someone to talk to who actually understands what I'm saying.
Then there's the enormous stress of taking care of you. I think about you every second of every day. I hate taking you out of the house because I never think that you're warm enough and I'm terrified of you getting sick. I worry about my own health now because who would be able to take care of you if something should happen to me? The amount of anxiety I have now that you're here is astronomical.
As we stood in line, I felt a sudden gush of blood coming out of me and it would not stop. We made it home, covered in mustard yellow poop, and I hurriedly changed you and nursed you until you fell asleep. For that hour of time I feared I was hemorrhaging and needed to go to the hospital. I started to cry, not out of fear for myself, but for you, Baby. What would you do without me?
When we picked up Dad from work that evening he cheerfully asked me how my day was. I answered him not with words, but with tears. "This is really hard, " I finally blabbered.
As a first time mom, I am always questioning my parenting skills. Am I giving you enough tummy time or will you never be able to crawl and walk? Should I be talking or singing to you more often? We haven't been reading to you nightly like I promised we would. Does this mean you won't like books later on in your life? Is it okay that you're still sleeping in your Rock 'n Play instead of your crib? Will you ever be able to sleep without being swaddled? What if a fire starts in the kitchen and we're upstairs? Do I tie you to my body and jump out the window, hoping that the snow will cushion the fall?
These are things that go through my head daily. It's overwhelming.
I'm someone who needs a set schedule so it drives me crazy that I don't know if you're going to sleep for five minutes or five hours at a time. Do I have time to shower or will I end up running to you with soap in my hair because you woke up earlier than I expected and started bawling?
There's also the physical pain I've been experiencing ever since returning home from the hospital. My lower back pain was so terrible that I had to kneel on the floor to change your diaper instead of bending down to get to your level and cross my fingers that you don't spray poop in my face. Nursing and carrying you around has wrecked my shoulders and neck, so much so that sometimes I fear I won't be able to do it anymore.
But, Baby, whenever it is your turn to become a mom, you'll see that you are capable of handling so much more than you ever imagined. Something in you, like it has in me, will drive you to keep on going because you are doing something so much bigger than yourself. You will love this job more than any job you have ever had in your life. You will be rewarded with cuddles, smiles, and sweet coos instead of a paycheck, and that will be more than enough.
Each day will get easier so do what you can to simply survive those first few months. Leave those dishes in the sink. Wear the same pair of yoga pants weeks in a row, even if there's spit up on it. Have your husband order pizza for dinner because you set off the smoke detector for the seventh time in four months. Cry all you want. Be in bed by 7:30pm and asleep by 8pm.
Just know that you are the best mom for your baby and that after this you can conquer anything.
I love you, Baby. Thank you for teaching me that I am stronger than I thought I was.
P.S. Can you please smile at me a little more often? Cause Mama needs it some days.