MOTHERHOOD

Motherhood is a mess.

A beautiful, disastrous, wonderful catastrophe. A land of sleepless nights and spit up covered shoulders and locks of hair tangled in tiny fists of drool. An oh-so-sweet and ever-so-exhausting place - where I am very ungracefully learning to live.

The first few weeks of Ketch were so unbelievably perfect. My mom and sister had flown in and the five of us laid on the couch in a pool of newborn baby awe, snuggling and listening to records and eating all the soft cheeses that tasted like heaven after 9 months of deprivation. It was an Indian summer kind of fall, and the mountains were purple and the leaves were green and the air was warm. And even though I couldn’t take more than 15 steps from that couch without my bladder feeling like it was going to fall out of body, we opened all the windows, loved on our brand-new bundle and soaked in every second of bliss.

But there was also so much that was so unbelievably hard in those first few weeks. The morning after Ketch was born, they told us he likely had a heart defect and would need surgery (which thank God and thank God and thank God again was a false alarm). Then he had an umbilical cord issue that caused him to leak a massive amount of blood all over me one night while nursing, a circumcision scare, which I’ll spare you the details on, an afternoon that lasted an eternity waiting in the hospital lobby for jaundice results and an all-out, hell-bent, full on brawl with breastfeeding.

In all my life, I have never experienced something that just feels so much like everything – all at once. Joy and fear and love and terror, panic and perfection all mixed and swirled and splattered over the canvas that once was your life. 

Here you are, with this utterly amazing little creature. That you love with such depth it can’t even be put into words – that you that you are so viscerally connected to, you physically feel their pain. And all you want is to give them the moon and the stars, to protect them from ever feeling any ounce of hurt, to make their first days on this earth – and every day after beautiful and wonderful and perfect. But you have no fucking idea what you’re doing. And you haven’t slept in days and your poor little body is beat, desperately trying to recover from the pelvic carnage that occurs when delivering an almost 9-pound child.  It truly is weary work. But I have never been so willing to be weary.

And I when I reflect on the newness and rawness of those first few weeks and months, I think there a few things that I wish I could have told myself. That maybe I’m still telling myself. That maybe all mothers at some point tell themselves too. 

First of all, be gentle with yourself. What you’re doing isn’t easy. And the weight of this new responsibility can feel so real and so heavy. Remember you’re new at this. You’re learning. You’ll make mistakes. But those mistakes probably won’t prevent your kid from getting into college or turn him into a serial killer. So relax a little. It will all be okay.

Call the pediatrician. Call your mother. Call the pediatrician again. Pray the worrying is for nothing. Remember the worrying is part of the job. And you are cut out for it. When they’re this little everything feels so big, but then again I’m sure it will still feel big when they’re not so little anymore.

That night, at 4am, when you’re half awake, standing beside the changing table in your lovely gauze underwear mid diaper change – and your baby starts to pee in every direction, while you also simultaneously and uncontrollably start to pee in every direction– just laugh. Because my God, it is kind of funny.

Rock and rock and rock that baby. Stare down the bridge of his perfect little nose and feel his tiny body with his feet curled up under his belly, heavy and warm on your chest. And kiss his little chick fur head and smell his little newborn smell and notice his little baby fingers with their teeny tiny fingernails curled around your big adult one. Because every morning you’ll wake up and he’ll be a little taller, a little chubbier, a little cheekier, a little different. And someday he won’t be this small. Someday you’ll wonder where 8 months went. And I’m sure that 8 months will be 8 years in a blink of an eye. So try to pause every once in a while. Because babies are the best reminder you’ve ever had that time marches on all too quick.

Be patient and understanding with your body. What it did is nothing short of amazing. Embrace the smush where your abs used to be, for it is a pretty comfy spot for a kid to rest. And that morning you notice that the hair along your forehead is all falling out and you’re starting to look terrifyingly similar to Payton Manning’s twin sister, don’t fret. It will grow back – before long you’ll have a whole slew of stick-straight-out-whispies in those bald spots…God, and hopefully someday some regular hair.

And sure, get back on that treadmill and vow you’ll loose the 35 lbs you gained during pregnancy, but really let go of that number, because you have a whole different reason to be healthy now – and it’s more about being able to keep up when that little boy wants to climb a mountain than it is about fitting into those jeans. And don’t deny yourself that pizza and beer either – because damn if you haven’t earned it.

Try not to compare yourself to others and try not to google or research or facebook forum too much. The way you do things is going to be different from the way other mothers do things, and while it’s nice to have guidance, in the end you just have to trust your gut and do what works for you.

When that woman at the airport comes up to you and feels it necessary to tell you that traveling with a baby would be a lot easier if you were nursing instead of bottle feeding, just tell her to fuck right off - or at the very least think it. She doesn’t know your story. And the fact that she thinks how you feed your baby is any of her business is insane. While you’re at it, try to let all of that other unsolicited advice go in one ear and out the other too. For whatever reason people love to tell you how they did things, and sometimes if you can stomach it – a smile and nod can go a long way.

Be thankful for your husband. For he is the ying to your yang. The person that probably keeps you from turning into an anxiety ridden lunatic. The one that reminds you that getting outside for a hike is probably worth the disruption in the nap routine. And that day, when you’re elbow deep in some book about some developmental theory, and you look up and say “Oh my god I just hope we’re doing everything right.” You’ll be thankful for his response, “Of course we aren’t, we’re just trying to love him and not screw him up too badly.” Truth.

When you go back to work, know that it will be okay. Your baby will be fine, and it will actually be pretty nice to get out of the house and interact with adults again. Sure, it will be chaotic. And there will be days when you feel like you can’t keep up with it all – because really, there isn’t a way to keep up with it all. Some things will have to fall to the wayside, but when they do, let them be the ones that don’t really matter. There’s always take out for dinner and that pile of laundry will still be there tomorrow. But that beautiful little baby won’t.

Make sure you keep doing the things that feed your soul. Write write write. Meet up with your momma friends and bitch about the lack of sleep and your pure unadulterated hatred of the breast pump over a glass of wine. Reminisce about all of the things you used to have time for before this. As hard as it is, carve out what slivers of the week you can to read books and do yoga and plant flowers. Take a bubble bath every now and again.

And lastly, when you need to cry, cry. Because holy hell this is hard and sometimes tears are the best release. Life will never go back to the way it was. But it will be better and more beautiful than you’ve ever imagined.

And to all my fellow new moms out there, just know I think you’re magic. You created a human. With cells and organs and eyelashes. One that breathes and smiles and blinks. And if that’s not some kind of wonderful witchcraft, I don’t know what is.