It’s 10 a.m., and I’m two coffees in. I haven’t changed the baby out of her sleeper yet, and I feel guilty because half of her regurgitated morning bottle is covering the neckband.
We’ve been up for hours, but it feels like it’s been minutes.
People warned me about this new life I’m experiencing. They all said things like “it’s hard but rewarding” and “your life will never be the same.” Now, two months later, I’m realizing how life changing it is.
I had my first break down last night. It’s not the first time I’ve cried, but this one was different. I felt angry with how everything is turning out and sad with how I’m handling it. Frustration overpowers my patience most days, and I feel defeated.
The precious moments staring into her blue eyes or kissing her round cheeks seem few compared to the long nights of wondering what’s wrong.
I spent weeks trying to figure out if she has gas, reflux or colic only to realize that it’s probably all three.
It gets lonely, and I try to hang on to pieces of myself with simple things, like showering. I now have a little girl who wants to be in my arms all the time. I love that. I know that my arms will always be her space, safe and comfortable.
I hold her while I eat dinner, while I do the dishes and fold the laundry. When I leave the house for an hour, I cant wait to get back home and hold her again.
But my arms get tired.
So Mike puts her to sleep most nights, while I go to bed alone, hoping to make up for the sleep I’ll lose feeding her in the middle of the night.
In bed, before I fall asleep, I look at pictures from our day. As long and challenging as it is, these are the moments that are making me a mother.