Skip to main content

Not A Natural at Motherhood

I don't know when the mommy light clicked on for me. The minute I truly realized that I was someone's mom. In fact, some days that light is so dim I barely notice it. There are days when Lando is happy and there are plenty of people to entertain him, where my maternal duties are just the ordinary ones that I forget to notice. There are also harder days, days where every hour is another reminder of the exhausting responsibility I carry.

When they put my burrito of a newborn on my chest, I was terrified. Petrified. If I had been able to run, I just might have. If there had been a put baby back inside for a day button I might have selected it. There was no such button and I couldn't run (downside of a C section), so I went through the motions.

And I kept on going through the motions. Feed baby. Change baby. Feed, feed, feed, feed baby.  Let baby sleep on me as I did homework. More feeding, more sleeping, another change. I had the motions down, and the motions were easy.

48 hours out

Lando's pediatrician told me I was the calmest first time mother she'd ever seen, as I sat in the exam room and nursed my six day old. Inside, though, I fully expected to make a life-altering mistake once every hour. I write that now because I can. It's natural to be that scared and ridiculous six days after you've had a child, when your primary focus is keeping that child alive. 

 I'm not a natural at motherhood because, like most humans, I like sleeping, eating hot food, and putting on pants without someone demanding I hold him simultaneously. A person can't be a natural at that. Motherhood is hard.

 It's hard that first day when you go from painfully pregnant to holding a brand new human in your arms and you realize the roller coaster your body just endured. 

 It's hard that first week when that brand new human has to go from being nourished by placenta to being nourished by a breast or bottle and you don't get to sleep. 

 It's hard that first month when that new baby just wants to sleep and eat and sometimes scream, but he doesn't know what time of day to do what. And  you don't get to sleep. 

 It's hard at nine months when that baby isn't sleeping through the night and is still eating through the night.  And again, you don't get to sleep. 

It's hard at one year when you realize that parenting involves more than offering the breast to a cranky baby. (Best method ever. Highly recommend.)

I had more to say, but this is long and Lando is now awake from one of his uber short naps. But know this, women my age, older, and younger who haven't held their first babies yet: motherhood is hard. 

Motherhood is the continuous giving and denying of yourself for a tiny, demanding human. I wasn't a natural at that---most women aren't. But if you love that baby, you'll be a good mama. And in return, you'll find the craziest, most exhausting love in the world. 

Comments

Post a Comment

Add your thoughts! <3

Use your good manners, grammar, and humor, and we will all be happy!

Popular posts from this blog

Losing Your Religion

  I  used to see religion as a warm, safe place.   It was somewhere that created a routine, a social network, and a place of belonging.   Oh, and we were right. About everything. And that’s a great feeling, being right.  Never having to doubt.  Knowing my neighbor was wrong, but I was right.  It was strange how every other religion was Oh So Wrong.  So clear how they hurt other people. So obvious that the adherents were worshiping themselves, rather than a god.  And then I..changed.  They’d say that I fell away. The people in the pews. Because I was no longer convinced that I was better than others.  That I could be cruel, selfish, vain, and legalistic, and it was okay if I sat in a pew on Sunday. In fact, I could doubt and wonder and process as much as I needed, if I kept mindlessly repeating the same tropes as everyone in the pew. Recite the same Bible verses. Sit in the same seat. Drink the same bad coffee. Go to the same Bible studies. Rinse and repeat.  That was faith. That was al

Why we don't believe in Santa Clause

It's happened many times this Christmas season. A well meaning adult will come up to my four year old in a public space and gleefully ask him what Santa Clause/Father Christmas is bringing him this year. And each and every time, my son cocks his head to side and clearly announces, "Santa isn't REAL." The reactions vary - there's shock, confusion, and even a bit of bemusement. Yes, Santa isn't real, but my four year old isn't supposed to know that. We've taught him to say "Santa isn't real at MY house," when other children are around, keeping the excitement alive for his friends and classmates. Despite that, plenty of Christmas time threads on mommy forums insist that parents like us are ruining Christmas, not only for our own children but for theirs. Even still, my four year old knows all about Santa and has asked for an Elf on the Shelf. (That's a no from me, son.) Most of the time he's content to muse aloud on the logistics

To Scotland we went!

Hiya, blog! I've taken a bit of a hiatus. Her name is Nova. Now that the first trimester is almost finished--she's 12 weeks tomorrow--I'm mostly back to my regularly scheduled programming. I won't be fully back until we night wean, but who knows how many months or (prayerfully NOT) years that will be. This week,  took our family of four on Nova's first trip. And where did we go? Scotland! I have an extremely detailed, careful way of picking out destinations and planning trips--not. My method is simply to pick something easy and go with it. I chose Scotland because UK, yay, and who doesn't want to go to Scotland. Edinburgh was our destination because all we had to do was drive to Peterborough, hop on a train, and boom, we would be there. (I'm skipping over the agony of driving, finding parking, hauling children, and all the gross, gritty, exhausting parts of travel. But don't fret, that part definitely happened.) The train ride there wen