My Mother's Day

I am so honored and grateful to be a mom and to have been able to celebrate my first Mother's Day as a mother myself. I want to say that first so it doesn't get lost in what may sound like a complain-y post. In the end, it didn't really matter what kind of day yesterday was because I'm a mother every day now, and that is something not everyone who wants it gets to have. I am all too aware.

So, my first Mother's Day as a mother was a bit stressful. I think the number one culprit is that my anti-anxiety meds don't seem to be as effective as they used to be. I've been feeling overwhelmed, and down and dark, unable to deal with even the smallest issues lately. And that's what the meds are supposed to help with. (Maybe a bit of post-partum depression seeping back in?) On Sunday, we had my family over, something we do often. Our home is sort of a hub for my large family, and we're used to having many people over at once. This time, it was only about a third of the people that are normally involved, and yet it stressed me out.

Later, I took Mo to visit my Grandma, and I was genuinely worried about doing that without Mike who was visiting with his mom. I worried about what I'd do if she got fussy or if she wouldn't nap. It's not since the Dark Days that I've felt incapable of parenting alone for any amount of time.

On top of all that, Mo had an off day. She woke up in the middle of the night for the first time in weeks, and then napped poorly all day, leading to one very cranky baby. Which lead to one very cranky mom. On my way home from my Grandma's, I called Mike and said for Mother's Day I needed a hot shower and 15 minutes to myself. I hated that I was asking to be away from my daughter for any part of this day that was supposed to celebrate the wonder of being a mother, but I knew it was for both our goods. I felt much better after my mini-escape and we spent the rest of the evening playing and cuddling.

What I learned from yesterday is that some days are good and some days are less good, and there's no guarantee that Mother's Day is going to be one of the great ones. But I'm blessed enough to have my Mo, and that makes every day a mother's day. I don't think I've ever been more thankful for anything.

Top left: Mo with her great grandma. Bottom left: Mo with her grandma. Right: Mo and me (and my giant zit) (and the giant bags under my eyes)! 

(By the way, Mike and Mo framed some maternity pictures and Mo photos for me as a Mother's Day gift. Mike also made waffles for all the mothers that came over. It was all very sweet.)

(By the way again, last Mother's Day I had just found I was pregnant, having had an ectopic pregnancy and miscarriage a few months earlier.)

Daycare dilemma

Today we brought Mo to her daycare. She'll start there after Memorial Day, so this morning we went to get an idea of how a baby would fit into what's going on there. It was... overwhelming. We walked in and were immediately bombarded by 10 little children. We tried to put her in a bumbo to interact with the other baby, but instead she was crowded with snotty faces and sticky hands. The workers were good about reminding the kids to give her space, and to not touch her head or face. And I'm sure the novelty will wear off quickly, but as I watched Mo in this environment, all I could think about was how next time she came here, I wouldn't be with her. And she would be sitting innocently in the middle of this chaos, unable to create her own boundaries, unable to do anything, probably getting more and more overwhelmed. And all the while wondering where her mom is and why I left her there.

I know I'm being dramatic. I know that in many ways this is good for her. I'm not trying to figure out a way to quit my job and stay home. I just so badly wish there were a better alternative. Nine hours a day, five days a week in that crazy, busy, chaotic place. She's too little! When she's older and more self-sufficient. When she can create boundaries or walk away from something doesn't like. When she can interact and do things, not just have things done to her. When she's not just a tiny little baby, I think I'd feel pretty good about putting her in daycare. She'll make friends and socialize and learn. But right now she can't even sit up on her own, let alone tell a kid to get the eff away.

I have this vision of her sitting in a bouncy seat on the floor, the older kids are being loud and crazy all around her. And she's not upset or anything. But she's just sitting there, patiently waiting for someone to notice her. For some reason, that image breaks my heart. 

This daycare, whole home-based, has two employees in addition to the woman who runs it. One of the workers has a son a couple weeks younger than Mo. I asked where he was, and she said he's home with her mom. Not even the daycare lady has her son in daycare! 

I keep hoping that some other solution will present itself. I keep putting it out there, thinking someday someone will say, "Hey, I have an idea!" And then they'll tell me about their sister who is staying home with her kid and is looking for another child to watch for a little extra income. Or something like that. So far it hasn't happened.

I want to cry. 

I know. Dramatic. But I do.

Photo oops

I'm not really interested in getting professional family photos, but maybe I should be. Because every time I try to get a good photo of Mike and Mo, I either get this:

It looks like Mike is looking at Mo, but really he's blinking.

Or I get this:

And nobody thinks to take pictures of me with Mo, so almost all of our photos together are so-called selfies with an iPhone.

Can someone just follow us around with a real camera maybe?

How Mo has changed my life (aside from the obvious ways)

Of course our lives have changed in so many ways -- we almost don't recognize what we were before Mo. But besides all the obvious stuff, having her has changed a few other significant things for me:

1. I'm a Coffee Drinker

I made it through four and a half years of college and two years of grad school (while working full time) without needing coffee. But when I was faced with going back to work while taking care of an infant, I saw no other choice. I learned to drink coffee. I never had any interest in "acquiring the taste" for coffee before, but I was desperate and my wallet would not support fancy $5.00 caffeinated beverages from Starbucks every day. However, I'm still a pretty picky coffee drinker. I don't drink the swill offered in my office's break room. Bleh. But I have one or two cups of the good stuff every morning. Mike had access to some free Starbucks K Cups for our Keurig, and I brew the Blonde Roast and mix in some flavored creamer to make it palletable. Don't ask me what I'm going to do when the free K Cups run out...

2. I'm No Longer an Avid Reader

Again, I made it through college and grad school and never sacrificed my pleasure reading. I've always been an avid reader, and I can't remember another time in my life when I wasn't actively reading a book. As soon as I finish one, I pick up another. If nothing else, I would at least read for awhile in bed before falling asleep. But since Mo, even that has fallen off. It took me about a month to finish the last couple chapters of the book I was reading when she was born, and I haven't gotten through one since then. I do currently have a book on my Kindle, but I've been reading it for two months and I'm only about 10% done. This makes me sad. I love books, I love reading. I hope once I get the hang of our new life, I'll find a way to fit it back in.

3. I Sleep Better

My whole life I've been a bad sleeper. Pre-pregnancy, I struggled with insomnia and relied on sleep aids to get any real rest. During pregnancy, I basically gave up on the idea of a good night's sleep. And immediately post-partum, I was as sleep deprived as any new mother. But once we got Mo sleeping through the night, I began to sleep through the night too. It's not perfect, I still have bad nights. But for some reason, sleep has been coming easier to me lately. I almost hate to write it out loud and jinx myself, but there it is.

Kissing her giraffe (rather, chewing it)

The Dark Days

That's what we call the first few weeks of Mo's life: the Dark Days. We love our daughter and we're thankful for her beyond measure, but those first three weeks were difficult. Sometimes we reminisce and ponder how far we've come. For awhile I was saying that I could definitely do pregnancy again, and I could do labor and delivery again if I had the option of an epidural in case things got as bad as they did last time. But I'm not sure I could relive those first three weeks.

What made them so difficult is a combination of several things:

1. I had borderline postpartum depression. Right around the three week mark, we had an in-home nurse visit, a standard (and free) follow up from the hospital. She was checking on the baby, but also on me, and she did a PPD screening. If you score a 10 or higher, they have to call your doctor to inform them you may be at risk. I scored a 10.

2. I was sick. I had some sort of virus that I ignored for a couple weeks. I wasn't eating or drinking, I was so achy I could barely move, and I was lightheaded and dizzy most of the time. I also had extremely low hemoglobin from blood loss during the birth, which made me very weak.

3. I was sleep deprived. This is pretty typical for mothers of newborns, but I was getting almost no sleep, and compiled with the other stuff, it made things so much worse.

4. Breastfeeding was not going well. I wrote about this in detail here, but in short, it was one of the most stressful things I had ever been through.

I was such a mess that I basically had to have constant supervision. Not because I was a danger to myself or Mo - I never had suicidal or other dangerous thoughts - but because I absolutely could not handle life on my own. If the baby was going to get fed - hell, if I was going to get fed! - someone had to be there. I couldn't take care of myself, and so I couldn't really take care of her. For the first week, Mike was home, and we usually had one other person with us. My mom, my stepmom, my sister, his mom, etc. When Mike went back to work, I thought I might not survive. It literally sounded like the worst possible thing that could happen. He was holding us all together, how would we survive without him?

So my mom moved in. The original plan was that she'd stay for a few days until I could function on my own. She ended up staying for two weeks. It took me that long to feel confident enough to be home alone, and even then I was scared to death.

Those weeks were some of the most exhausting, emotional, and trying weeks of my life. Things are so much better now, it's almost unbelievable they were ever that bad. But every now and then I'll see something or think of something that brings it all back.

The other day I moved our little light-up globe back into Mo's room. We had put it on our room soon after we got home because she was sleeping in there, and we wanted a soft light. She moved into her own room over a month ago, but I had never returned the lamp. When I finally did, I flashed back to all the sleepless nights. All the times I dragged myself into a sitting position, pulled her out of her bassinet, waited for Mike to wet down the nipple shield, and breast fed her in the soft light of that globe. I remembered how I could barely keep my eyes open. And how I'd cry because she wouldn't latch (pre-nipple shield days). And how we used to have to carry armloads of stuff to bed with us each night: the baby, the bobby, my giant water bottle, snacks (breast feeding makes me HUNGRY!), the nipple shield.

Now we just grab the baby, put her in her room, and go to sleep for 7-8 hours. It's such a stark difference, it blows my mind.

Sometimes when I hold her in the living room, my mind slips back to the days when I'd sit on the couch with her and not move all day. Literally. Breast feeding steals a lot of your water intake, so I rarely had to pee. My mom or Mike brought me water and food and anything else I needed. And I just sat because I couldn't do anything else. Mo slept on me in between feedings, and that's all we did.

I used to talk to my sister (the one that had her son two hours before me) who was doing so much better than me, and I truly could not comprehend how she was showering. How she was brushing her teeth or getting dressed. She even managed to take Will to the store a few times in the first month. The idea of doing something like that was so far-fetched, I felt like I was living in another universe. Who were these people that were still doing things? They couldn't possibly live on the same planet as me.

I realize it may sound like I'm dramatizing things. People go through such awful things that saying my first three weeks as a new mother were the hardest days of my life sounds pretty pathetic. In retrospect, I do feel foolish that it was so hard for me when it clearly isn't that difficult for most others. But when I was living those days, they were so dark, I really did feel like I might not make it to the other side. Everyone swore it would all get better, and I believed it could be true, but I couldn't see past the tears. I couldn't look into the future when it would all be better and find hope in that. All I could do was sit on the couch and spill tears all over my new, tiny baby.

Thank God it's nothing like that anymore. In a way, I'm thankful for the Dark Days because I have such a deep appreciation for how much lighter things are now!