I tend to alternate between wanting to blog about mom life (Judah peed on Sophie the Giraffe…again) and feeling reflective (warning: that’s what this post is going to be). In a lot of ways being a mom has completely changed my whole world, it seems logical then that I would take time to reflect on those changes and how I feel about them.
That was a little disclaimer, mostly to myself, about why I’m writing this post. I’ve talked myself out of it several times because I don’t want to seem whiny or garner pity. But then I think that maybe sharing my experiences will help someone else. Is that a little arrogant? Perhaps. But you’ve stuck with me this far…
So, since becoming a mom, I’ve realized that that title is synonymous with feeling guilty. All. The. Time. About everything and nothing. I kid you not, here are some of the things that I feel guilty about on any given day, at any given moment: napping in the swing, going out to lunch, using a sound machine, giving a bottle, giving a bottle of formula, taking a nap (me), not taking enough pictures, needing to take “happy pills”, eating out, going on a date, too much time on his back, using a pacifier, feeling angry, feeling sad, wishing I could take a vacation from being a mom, not reading bedtime stories, swaddling, sleeping in the crib (him, not me), drinking a glass of wine (me, not him), not working out, etc. etc.
Can you believe that’s only a partial list? And don’t even get me started on the things I feel guilty about that aren’t specifically related to parenting like spending time with my husband or having to give our cat away. I look at it and think about how ridiculous it is that I carry that guilt and worry around with me. Like using a sound machine – why does that make me feel bad? You might laugh (Josh did) but the first night we used it and Judah slept in his crib, I cried! Somehow I felt guilty that a machine was “singing a lullaby” and I wasn’t! Had I just fed, cuddled, rocked, and sang to him myself? Yes, but somehow I still felt like I was being lazy or something. This after feeling terribly guilty because I hadn’t moved Judah into the nursery by 6 weeks old and he still took most of his naps in the swing. Stupid. Guilt.
The other big thing that bugs me is my postpartum depression. Some days I just feel awful when I look back over the pictures from our first weeks home because they don’t bring back happy memories for me. I see them and think my son is adorable but I remember all those terrible nights of anxiety, the despair over my new life and the helplessness I felt rather than joy. I feel like I missed the first month of his life because I was dealing with so much with myself. I constantly handed him off to other people and didn’t enjoy being around him – so I feel like I missed out on something precious. I remember during those days only posting a few pictures to Facebook because I thought everyone else who posted baby pictures was so happy and I was supposed to be. And I didn’t want to be fake and act like everything was so great when I felt more like my life had ended.
Just this week, my doctor and I agreed to lower my dose of my medicine since things have been going so well. Obviously these things take time to stabilize but this morning I felt some of those old feelings again – anxiety and depression and not enjoying the time with my son (disclaimer: it was nothing major so no need to worry). The worst part is that it brought back that feeling of “what’s wrong with me that I need medicine to enjoy being a mom?” I think that’s been the hardest part. I question why I can’t feel happy and loving towards this baby unless I take a pill.
As I described it to my small group the other night, motherhood has been a crucible of sorts for me. I’ve learned more about God in the last 3 months than the rest of my life. I’ve felt more connected to Him and to Josh than ever before. When God doesn’t answer my prayer to make my baby stop crying or to make my baby sleep, I’ve learned to accept that it doesn’t mean He doesn’t hear it. It also doesn’t mean that He doesn’t want to make it happen. Rather, He knows that this has all been a part of making me more like Jesus and that is the better thing. How does getting up at 4am make me more like Jesus? Because Jesus gave up EVERYTHING to save me, to love me. When I give up sleep, my agenda, even my peace of mind sometimes to take care of this little person who needs me and has absolutely no way of paying me back – it’s a reminder of what Jesus has done for me. It’s a reminder that I’m called to “deny myself” and “offer my body as a living sacrifice” to God. And guess what? Jesus loves me. Jesus still comes in to comfort me (even if I have spit out the pacifier for the 3rd time in 5 minutes and realize after that I actually still want it…ahem, sorry, I digress). I’m learning that experiencing God as I’ve longed to do, doesn’t come from just wanting. It comes from responding to what God is already doing. And that’s as far as I’ve gotten so far. 🙂
Adventures with the Morgans 