Give up the Good

I have been a mother for 6 months and 6 days.

There has been good and bad, as I expected. What I didn’t expect was just how much good and how much bad there would be.

For example, I expected my baby to cry. Babies cry. It’s natural.

What I didn’t expect was just how much my baby would cry. That did not seem natural. No one warns you about that.

Crying really needs to be part of the childbirth class. Or maybe a new parents class. Do they have those? I never saw one offered.

Another example: I expected to love my baby. Mothers love their babies. It’s natural.

What I didn’t expect was just how much I would love my baby. She’s so beautiful. The first night in the hospital, I couldn’t stop looking at her.

Six months later, I still can’t stop looking at her. She’s even more beautiful than when she was born.

I didn’t know that I wouldn’t like having a newborn. She cried. So. Much.

Even in the hospital, we sent her to the nursery – something I had been adamantly against doing – because she wouldn’t stop crying.

She did not like sleeping in the sterile plastic box that was her hospital bed. She didn’t like being so exposed to the world. She only stopped crying when she was lying next to me or in my arms or her daddy’s arms.

So I pulled her close in my hospital “bed” (and if you’ve ever spent the night in a hospital, you know why “bed” is in quotes) and we snuggled and she stopped crying and she slept.

Co-sleeping is generally frowned upon, especially in the hospital. Mothers are chastised if their babies do not sleep in their cold plastic boxes.

But my baby would sleep only if she were next to me. So sleep next to me she did. I wasn’t going to tell her no.

She didn’t stop crying when we brought her home, either. She cried unless she was in our arms.

She cried when we put clothes on her.

She cried when we took clothes off of her.

She cried during her bath.

She cried if we put her down.

She cried if she was alone.

She cried if she was in the car.

She cried when she was going to sleep.

She cried when she woke up.

She cried in her swing, in her bouncy seat, on a blanket, in her bassinet.

She was a terrible newborn.

Thankfully, she’s a very good baby.

I have learned I don’t like having a newborn, but I enjoy very much having a baby.

She still cries, but now I know why, and I know how to fix it. And most times, I know when it will happen and can prevent it.

We’re in a good place.

We’re both still learning, she and I. She learns about being a baby, and I learn about being a mother.

I have already made so many mistakes. Every time, in tears, I have begged her forgiveness.

She is quick to forgive, and I’m thankful for that.

I’ve learned that people are quick to offer advice about what you “should” do. And that’s strange to me because they don’t know my baby like I do. It would be better, I think, to tell me a story about what worked for them, rather than telling me what will work for me.

But that will never happen. And that’s OK. I’ll go on ignoring them and doing what’s best for my baby.

I do enjoy hearing others’ stories, though. It’s helpful and reassuring and pleasant to learn from other mothers, especially ones that are going through the same things at the same time.

When I listen carefully, though, my baby is my best teacher.

We discover lovely secrets about our babies when we listen with all of our senses.

The sound of her chattering to herself when she plays.

The smell of clean baby hair brushing against my cheek.

The sight of her smiling eyes when I peek at her around a corner.

The softness of her skin in places where my skin is no longer soft.

The taste of tiny fingers that she holds up for me to kiss while she nurses.

Two years ago, I wasn’t sure I wanted children. I think I would have been happy without them, but I’m certain I would have always wondered how my life would have been different, better, worse.

Now, though. Oh, now! Now, I can’t even remember my old life. It doesn’t even register anymore.

There were times that I desperately missed my old life (most of that awful newborn phase, in fact).

But now, I wouldn’t trade this new life for anything.

And now I look back at that miserable newborn phase and I miss it because I’m relieved that it’s over. I wish I could go back and do it again, do it better.

But I can’t, so instead I do better in this moment.

I want to soak up this moment, every moment, bottle it up so I can keep it forever.

I have filled my phone’s memory to the brim at least three times, trying to capture every bit of her.

Time still goes too fast.

But I always seem to love the next step as much as I loved the previous one.

And I can’t wait to see what she’ll do tomorrow.