At three months into motherhood, I’m nearly too late in writing this post. The forgetfulness is starting to cloud my brain and the parental words of survival are starting to form in my mouth, “Ohhh, its not sooo bad. And really, it’s worth it.” For the real deal, I should have written this a month ago.
My daughter, Sofia, is an amazing human. If you meet her on the street she’ll dazzle you with her loveliness. Nothing I write here takes away from her uniqueness and impressiveness as a being.
But I have to say, becoming a parent is a horrible process. No one prepares you for it. Even that statement sounds too light, sounds too much like what people always say. No, no one prepares you for it because if they really did, they’d say – hey, just don’t do it; it’s horrible. We’d never need to worry about overpopulation, ever.
In the initial weeks after bring our babe home, I kept asking friends, “why didn’t you tell me?!” They’d reply, “What could we say? You were already pregnant.” I kept contesting their answers by saying, “Use words. String together sentences and tell me how hard this was going to be.” They’d shrug.
There is a distinct firewall between parents and non-parents in this way. Non-parents ‘know’ it will be hard, that you won’t sleep, that you will enter a new life, but that in the end, you have a soft, cuddly baby. Once you cross the line, as a parent, you KNOW how traumatic this process is for everyone involved. When I look back at the line just crossed, I now use the traditional parent response, “Oh, there’s nothing I can say to prepare you.” And that’s because all my words would be horrible.
A glimpse of what my brain allows me to recall: hours spent rocking with screaming in my ear, days spent taking things out of my diet to determine if its gas, only to determine it’s not gas, it’s hunger, tears over incompetence, lack of confidence, resentment, loneliness and boredom, not being able to speak or have a conversation, when able to speak, only speaking about poop, Googling every possible condition known to man, reading countless bulletin boards to see if my kid is ‘normal’, listening to public health nurses tell me my kid is losing too much weight and telling me to pump, pumping only to create an oversupply that gives my kid gas, the pain of breastfeeding, the guilt of formula, the hate for my husband’s freedom to leave the house, too much Live with Kelly, never sleeping, never knowing when I will or won’t sleep, insanely watching the monitor, obsessing about SIDS, schedules that are not your own, no where to run or hide, wanting to shake your kid, having something called the red zone, asking your husband to sign consent letters to leave the country, blame for having this happen, saying it wasn’t my choice, knowing this is not what you signed up for, knowing you can’t return it (ever), wearing pajamas all day, not brushing my teeth, going to bed at 8pm, feeling like a zombie, trying to hide from all things from my previous life, and on…
It’s the run-on sentence that never ends.
People tell us that we’ll forget this period. As I mentioned, its starting to happen. They say at around three and four months, “it gets easier”. I’m not sure if that is true or if you brain just clouds over the really, really bad parts. Then, as they tell us, you forget the whole thing. That’s how you end up with two kids.
My husband and I don’t want to forget, so we made a little video.
Of course, any trying or challenging period inevitably creates new learning and growth. I have moments in my brain, already nostalgically romanticized, of the goodness of the experience. A 5am sunrise in the hospital the first night she stayed in my room, the lightness of the summer sky even in the middle of the night, the wind in the trees outside her window, the way she slept on my chest many nights, the first weeks of shared responsibility with my husband, the love and support of friends and family, and texts from my sister sharing in the horribleness.
You see, I’m already forgetting.
I wanted to write this because no one told me. This journey, especially after you leave the hospital and family leaves your house, is not just hard, but horrible. I’ve decided that people should stop saying the first three months are hard. The number ‘three’ conjures a short period of time. Rather, count the minutes of three months (131,487) and use that as your countdown clock. In the first three months, it is minute by minute (not even hour by hour). If you are okay with that number, then procreate.
Last night, our little one slept from 8:30pm to 3:30am. I went to bed at the same time, meaning I got seven hours of uninterrupted sleep. It is an amazing feeling and one, I know, that may not ever happen again. The one thing this journey is teaching me is that life is moment to moment. I can’t expect one day to yield similar results to the day before. For a gal who loves control and control over her schedule, this is a brutal way to learn this lesson. I’m also learning to rejoice in the do-nothing days. The days when I allow myself to lie in bed with her and watch her sleep. The minutes and hours simply pass and life goes on outside, and I am fine. I’ve learned that there are the same amount of hours in a bad day that there are in a good day.
My husband and I are finally at the point of saying goodbye and thank you to our old life. It took us two months to realize that we were never going back. No matter how hard we tried, how cool we are, how much we wanted to. It’s over. We’ve finally moved past our denial stage and that creates space for a new life to emerge.
If you haven’t had kids, don’t let anyone fool you. It sucks. And the first few months are horrible. But then the cloud sets in and it becomes normal(ish) and you become…well, I’m not sure what you become because I’m not there yet. If you’ve had kids, I get it now, there’s the code of silence on this horrible stuff. You simply shrug and utter, “it’s not so bad.” I see it as a rite of passage. After all, what words could you possibly use to describe all of this?
I remember commenting to you during my “haze days” that having newborns was like going to boot camp. They tear down your former self and build you back up as a parent.
I vaguely remember the haze days (the first few months are the haze days because it was all just a hazy blur for me) and now almost 6 months into my twin-atholon, it’s my opinion that it doesn’t get easier. It gets different. New challenges, new difficulties, new amazing moments too.
It was an honest (finally!) twin mom that at first started to give me the “it gets easier” line, but quickly changed her mind to give me the honest, “not easier, just different.” From my experience, she’s been right.
When you and C do venture into the “should we have another” conversation as I know you eventually will, just remember, apparently our genes allow us to reproduce more than one at a time. :p
Your “it gets different” comment clearly shows you’ve already forgotten. Coping mechanism, but I get it. I’m going there too.
Yes, and if you want more kids, you may end up with four. 🙂
“Hazing”
Totally hazing. Where’s the keg party?
Great post! Alright I won’t say ‘it’s not too bad’, but I will say life gets much more interesting, in a super fun way, once they become more interactive. Crawling, talking, exploring. And then they go to kindergarten and grade school and you wish they were little peanuts again. Or you find yourself pregnant with #3.
There’s been a resounding response to go for 3. Again, that little number 3. Sounds so nice, 3. But so devious!
One thought to help you see yourself through this may be to examine your faith and beliefs, handed down to you throughout your years but often ignored by many until moments of incomprehensible events. You may be having one.
I am not sure, but the life you and Craig have given up may not have been your life at all. Merely a transitory creation of what life would be if you were in control. You may just be realizing now that you are not in control of your life, and never have.
To side step the philosophical discussion on the meaning of one’s life, let me say you have just entered a “twilight zone”, a hazily awakened dream like state, similar to being hit in the head with a 2X4. It really is just a transitory phase to allow your body and brain to endure significant pain and change at very rapid speeds. It happens to us all, and some of us never leave it, clinging on to our past experience like a child going to kindergarten for the first time. What you may be experiencing is just another learning experience about what your life is all about, and while it includes you, you’re no longer the star attraction, but the journey through this one life has just gotten exponentially much bigger and richer for you. This is also a time to teach you to be humble, to surrender, and recognize that the “you” who was you really wasn’t all that tough when a 12 lb infant can wrestle you down on your own turf. You may be feeling right know that you could use some divine help.
If you subscribe to the theory that no one is the same and no events are the same, such as the theory of chaos, then you will understand why no training or books can help you through your situation. Each person’s situation, looking similar to the naked eye, has slight different variables, which when running its course give way to significantly different outcomes. So you will find that your prior life experiences is intended to be your basic training and from that core you will adapt to every situation and decide a course that is truly yours, and you will champion. For it’s your only journey (re-bookings are not allowed), and even if there were books, and there are, you have already discovered they lead to chaotic thoughts, since nothing is the same. (There is one book that seems to be recommended by most called the Nova Vulgata.)
And so it goes, in about 2-4 years, when Z asks Craig to marry her, and when Z tells you she will never leave you and care for you in your old age (just after you have read the night before Christmas for the 40th time), the notion of one’s “one and only journey” comes out as can we cheat destiny and have another baby .By this time you really don’t own anything anyway and the cool skinny jeans on Craig just don’t look right anyway. And so it happens to many. For you we will have to see how powerful the video will be 4 years out. Odds are you will not remember where you saved it.
The thought I would like to leave behind is that it will get physically easier. For me, it was the noise of a little girl getting her first bowl of cereal all by herself. We laid in bed with hearts a flutter and it would not matter what mess may have been developed to reach that accomplishment. Yours may be when she goggles a pizza delivery for breakfast on her I-pod at age 3-at 3 in the morning.
It is never easy-ever.
Both the joy and ant heartache is akin to a tropical storm, a 40 mph wind that does not abate, straight I the face, but not so strong to knock oneself down. Whether you want it or not they will teach you just how precious every day of your life is, and how empty life would be without them
As my final evidence, you only need to look into the eyes of parents who, being not as fortunate to have children, when children are around them. Their emotions run from high to low, as to have immediate joy from the children but recognize as they age they will age alone.
Look at it this way. You can have your Cupcake and eat it too.
No! Try not. Do, or do not. There is no try.”
Yoda
DAD
Whoa, Dad. Beautifully said. I do hope Z is ordering me pizza off her Iphone, sooner than later. 😉
Hey sweetie,
I love everything that you wrote. Feelings are important to express and you have a wit and style about you that could sell books!
I have to agree a lot of what your Dad said. But mostly, I consider when people say “children are a miricle, a gift from God”
I think at that point its Gods plan..in the form of a tiny child to shape and form your new life. Letting go will never be easy…but its a lesson to learn now. Think about all the times your going to have to “let her go” in her life time!
At nearly four months now, I can say that things are better. Not easier, certainly different. Breaking into Parenthood is a brutal process. I always considered myself pretty good at change. But this one was a doozy. With most life changes, this one is worth it. And the changes are still unfolding… (Btw, every time I see your FB notices for childcare, I’m tempted to move to KW)!