My little boy just turned five months old this past week, and somewhere along the way my fragile and fresh newborn has turned into a chunky, smiley and happy baby. The first twelve weeks literally felt like I was a contestant on Survivor. How long could I go without eating, sleeping, showering and having my sanity?
My motto during that time was simply “surviving not thriving.” It’s funny though how quickly I’ve already started to miss those days. The newborn stage is such a special and fleeting time, but I think the real question is how many mothers actually even remember their little one’s first weeks? And if we did remember them perhaps we would still want those sleepy cuddles back, but maybe not the entire experience? I may be able to recollect the big picture from those days, but all the little details start to seem a bit hazy.
The one thing I truly remember though is being completely and utterly fatigued. There were times when I would be so tired that I would literally go through my days like a robot, just trying to get to the next hour, to the next feeding, to the next diaper change. I’ve always dreamed of being a mother, but when I actually became one I started to think that maybe I wasn’t as good at it as I had always imagined…
Now hear me out when I say that I am totally and completely head-over-heels in love with my son. All he has to do is give me his gummy little smile and I melt into a puddle onto the floor. I mean, wouldn’t you too…?
Oh. My. Heart.
As thankful as I am to be his mom, I have to be honest that the tears undoubtedly flowed and the frustrations certainly came during his first weeks, and even now months into it the days can still feel long at times. I think the mix of pure exhaustion and figuring out how to take care of a baby left me confused and out of my organized element.
I remember logging into my social media accounts to see how all the other new moms were doing that day, the ones who had their babies weeks after I had my own. One was out at the park with her kids, another was back in the gym already training for a marathon, and the other looked like she just walked off the runway complete with heels, a full-face of makeup and a fresh blow out. Meanwhile, I lay in bed staring at my phone wondering what was wrong with me? My highlight of the day was finishing a cup of coffee before it went cold and taking a quick yet efficient shower, (I became really good at those). I wanted to know what happened to the girl who had it all figured out just weeks before.
As a blogger, I hear from a lot of new moms who feel the exact same way and struggle with adjusting. If so many of us feel this way, why is it still SO difficult to admit that being a mom is SO incredibly hard? It’s almost as if confessing these shortcomings makes one feel like a failure, or makes it seem like that mother loves her child less than the seemingly ‘perfect’ mom next door.
It’s time to put an end to this way of thinking.
I want to teach my son that it’s okay to make mistakes as long as he owns them, learns from them and then moves on from them, so why would his mother be any different? Certainly teaching our children through our actions is even more important than through our words. Because of this, I am not afraid or ashamed to admit that being a mom is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I make errors in my role every single day, and probably will for the rest of my life. What my tears, fears and emotions display though is how much I do truly want to be the best mom I can, and how much I do love and want what’s best for my son. That is why it’s hard to admit it’s hard, because I always feel like I can do more and give more to him. Perhaps all these feelings show though is how much I truly care. Maybe if I said being a mother is easy, I wouldn’t be doing it right?
