I've spent a lot of time reading tons of "things no one tells you about during pregnancy, after birth, etc" posts in an attempt to somehow figure out how to nail parenthood like Simone Biles during a floor routine. If I could just gather all these nitty gritty insights and catalog them for future reference, I'd have all the answers if and when the problem came up, right?
Hahahahahahaha.
Not surprisingly, no amount of Google research can strip me of my doe-eyed-Bambi title I so obviously wear as I stumble my way through the first weeks of motherhood. I am the woman who cannot figure out why the fucking carseat won't click into the stroller while balancing my cold brew, phone and wristlet in one hand in the Target parking lot. I am the one furiously Googling what a "normal" umbilical stump looks like and then panicking and calling the nurses line at 9 p.m. because, news flash, the umbilical stump is still to date the most disgusting thing I've dealt with thus far. And I'm 100% the one crying, head in my hands, at the edge of my bed at 4 a.m. because my 6-week old daughter will just NOT go to sleep.
It seems like no matter how much you prepare, how many friends you talk to, how stocked your nursery is and how much you've visualized exactly what motherhood will look like, you're bound to fall flat on your face and then wonder, usually at 3 a.m., if you're the only one who's been there. News flash: you're not. News flash: social media makes it sound like everyone has their shit together and I'm learning pretty quickly that no one does.
In a nutshell, here are the things I've realized, learned and come to terms with in the first 7 weeks of my dear daughter's life:
I hated being pregnant. I am beyond thankful and grateful for a relatively easy, healthy pregnancy, but I hated every minute of it. I felt incredibly disconnected from my body, which I struggled with big time after years of working to lose weight. Everyone will pity you for not loving pregnancy. Challenge yourself to find at least one other person who hated it, and cling tightly to them. They will be your source for so much comfort. You may cling tightly to me if you like. But not too tight, because I have a clingy baby and a clingy dog and I'm really fucking tired.
I hear a lot of complaining about dads who just don't "get it." Mothers who won't leave their baby with dad because he's just a big stupid man who can't possibly nurture and care for my child the way I would. Such. Bullshit. My husband is a fucking rockstar with Harper. We are, without a doubt, both completely clueless - but he jumps in head first just as much as I do and I 100% feel like we are equals in this parenting adventure. We're formula feeding, so I realize that means he can help out with feedings maybe more than mothers who breastfeed, but there is absolutely no excuse for dad not to be as much of a rockstar parent as mom. I'm proudly bragging, because my husband is a natural and I am beyond lucky to have him.
There is not enough information on the internet for formula feeding mothers. I get it - breast is best. I expected to be in the minority when I chose to formula feed and I'm okay with that. But because the reality of the matter is that FED is best, I think it's horse shit that there's so little education on formula feeding available to moms who choose this route.
Your first visit to the pediatrician will look a lot like a stranger man-handling your kid and basically telling you that as long as your kid is still breathing, you're fine. As a new parent, this broke our eager little hearts.
Babies do not give a shit about your sleep schedule, work schedule, eating schedule or how badly you really want to watch tonight's episode of Grey's Anatomy in peace. Legit - they do not give one single shit.
Social media will paint the most distorted view of motherhood you'll ever see. It's so hard not to compare yourself to what you see on Facebook - even just today, I posted a delightful family photo where we're all dressed in beautiful fall colors. Even the dogs were present - because it's a family photo, duh. But the reality is that my ankle boots were too tight, I was sweating my ass off and my perfect fall scarf was hiding a giant ring of sweat on my shirt. We started prepping ourselves and Harper for these photos three hours before their scheduled time, and we were still late. Basically, the photoshopped version of what you see on the internet likely has a back story that looks like a total clusterfuck. Remember that.
Speaking of, I either arrive 30 minutes late or 30 minutes early to all functions now. I have yet to figure out how the hell to time prepping myself and a baby for leaving the house.
I happily leave my house, and my baby. Two days after we got home from the hospital, I left Harper with Rob and wandered Target for a couple hours just to get a change of scenery. We left her with my parents on several occasions during her first weeks of life, and while I love her more than anything, I praised Jesus for the brief break in parenting.
The best way to survive marriage during the first weeks home with a baby is to openly admit when you hate the other person. So many times, particularly in middle of the night feedings, I've resented Rob - sleeping blissfully in the other room while I'm in here trying to tame the flailing arms of a newborn like a fucking whack-a-mole game at the fair. But every day, we tell each other how we feel - I tell him when I'm feeling resentful, and he tells me when he's burnt out, and we do our best to give each other the breaks we need, and team reinforcement during those rough 4 a.m. shifts. It takes sometimes verbal reminders that we're on the same team, but I will say we're totally kicking ass at it.
Anyone who says you love your dogs less once you have a baby is a fucking liar. End of story. My heart grew tenfold when I saw Scout and Brody interact with Harper for the first time.
I delivered Harper at 11:41 on Saturday night and we walked out of the hospital on Monday morning before noon. Apparently it only takes about 36 hours for them to determine you're suitable parents able to raise a child. I've had hangovers that have lasted longer than this.
Newborns do not have fingernails. They have eagle talons, designed to tear through their perfect skin and make you look like the worst parent in history. You will field so many "Can't you trim their nails?" questions that you will eventually go buy this, and it will be the best $30 you've ever spent.
Parent guilt is real - a vicious cycle of love, frustration and guilt that can sometimes feel like a downward spiral. Overwhelming love for this new life, frustration that you can't warp this tiny human to your will so you can just get some damn sleep, and guilt for even feeling so frustrated with something so tiny and innocent. Guilt for taking a break - guilt for wanting a break. Guilt for jokingly asking what the return policy is on this kid at 2 a.m. when you're driving around town eating french fries, trying to get her to sleep. I'm still struggling with this one, but I've heard two things: A mom (and really, any parent) who takes care of themselves is a better parent for their child, so do whatever you have to do to make that happen. And, unfortunately, the guilt never really goes away.
Parenting a newborn is like going to day one of a new job every single day. Every day, you think you find something that works, only to discover it doesn't work the next day. It's all a crapshoot, and I've gone a really long time feeling like I'm not getting any better at it. But Harper is alive, cute as hell, and some days that's enough. If I didn't get the recommended amount of tummy time in today (or yesterday), everyone will still survive.
Laughing over something you can't remember at the bar will be replaced with laughing until you cry watching your husband dramatically change a poopy diaper. It's just poop, Rob. You'll all be the first to know when (and I do say "when," not "if") Harper poops during bathtime and Rob loses his mind.
Every weekend morning, Rob gives Harper a "musication," where he teaches her all about 70s rock music while she stares at him in awe. We rock her to sleep to Elton John songs and Journey power ballads and, occasionally, a really inappropriate rap song that reminds us of what life was like when we were drunk and stupid. These moments remind me that we are still us, hidden deep down underneath the sleep deprivation and coffee and diapers. Find a way to create those moments because, as I've learned, I desperately need them.
Speaking of which, figuring out how to incorporate motherhood into an identity you've spent years cultivating is incredibly difficult. Be kind to yourself if you don't feel motherly, or maternal, or whatever it is you think you're supposed to feel. Everyone's version of parenting looks different and while your child now becomes a pretty high priority, it's okay to still embrace and celebrate the other areas of your life that have nothing to do with being a parent. I'm still working through this one, but it's helped tremendously to get back to running and things that make me feel like the "old me."
There is truth to the idea that you have to mourn your former life a little. Do I miss the days of patio happy hours and driving an hour away on a whim just to eat really good tacos? Every. Single. Day. It's not to say I don't love my daughter and yes, truthfully, I wouldn't change it for anything. But life is different now, and adjusting to that is easier on some days than others. Again, the guilt you feel for craving your former life is so real. I have no idea if it's normal, but I've experienced it, so take comfort in that, right?
It really does take a village, and asking for help can be hard, but worth it. I always feel indebted to someone when I ask for help - whether it's family, friends or Rob. But eventually, you'll do pretty much anything for a few hours of sleep or a run with your dogs in the sunshine.
I'm learning that despite the friends I've talked to with kids, despite chats with my mom, family and my husband, there are still so many feelings, moments and incidents where I wonder if what we're experiencing is normal. I know I haven't posted in, oh, 800 years or so, but so much of what we're experiencing is to funny and too real not to share. So, expect more from me, friends!
PS, can I get a HELL YES for a full hour nap that allowed me to write this up?!
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