We have all had that nervous feeling, the first time someone hands you an infant. Well, imagine you’ve just pushed one of those things through your lady parts and now it’s your job to hold them forever! Well, maybe not forever…at least until they can hold their own head up or whatever, right? Point is, we all understand that while babies are super delish and we could just eat their little feet, they’re also terrifying milk monsters who shriek bloody murder and poop all over themselves. I find that opening up about the trials of motherhood, has only brought me closer to other parents who understand just how hard it can be at times. It’s also made me take a huge sigh of relief, knowing that I’m not the only parent who feels this way. That I’m not a bad parent!
November 21st 2019. It’s the moment I have always dreamed of. I’m laying there in my hospital bed numb from the waist down when the doctor hands me my daughter. I pull her goo-covered face up to mine and for the first time I get to look into my baby’s eyes. She looks up at me, and her eyes slowly open. They’re blue. BLUE. What the hell? This baby looks nothing like me. I JUST SUFFERED FOR 9 MONTHS AND LABORED FOR 34 HOURS FOR HER TO LOOK LIKE HER DAD? Albeit, he’s very handsome but I digress. I didn’t know how to feel. I knew I had a tiny human on my chest, and that she was my creation, but that was about it. I knew I loved her, but I couldn’t exactly understand how I loved her. Don’t get me wrong, she’s six weeks now and I’m completely obsessed, so much that BD (Baby Daddy) is somewhat concerned that I’m going to smother her with kisses while she sleeps. But, I didn’t feel like a mom. I didn’t feel like her mom. Was there some magical time when I supposed to feel it? Was this not it?
The following week was filled with tears and wondering if I’ll ever be able to wipe my hemorrhoid covered ass again. Still. No. Mommy. Feeling. Just a constant state of angst, crippling anxiety, and a massive sense of responsibility. I had the baby blues, and I had them bad. I knew PPD was a possibility for me since I already suffer from GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) and depression, but nobody prepared me to feel this. Like a mother. It was a feeling I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the happy-go-lucky feeling I expected to feel as a new mom. I felt guilty and as though my world was ending and beginning at the same time. I felt helpless when she cried, and ashamed when I couldn’t console her. It was daunting.
My daughter is six weeks old now, my circadian rhythm is calloused from sleep deprivation, I’m currently walking in circles around my kitchen with her strapped in the Baby Bjorn because she won’t go the f*** to sleep otherwise, and I’m learning. I’m learning every day how to stay sane, how to help her, how to help my partner, and how to help myself. It’s the hardest thing and most rewarding thing I’ve ever done. I have to learn to forgive myself, remind myself I’m not alone, and remember that I’ll be okay as long as I Eat, Pray, and Dont Shake the Baby.