Second Time Around


     6 years ago, I decided kids might not be for me. 5 years and 11 months ago, I wound up sitting on the floor of the bathroom with a stick in hand, wondering how I would handle becoming a mother. I knew almost nothing about pregnancy. I knew absolutely nothing about babies. The bigger I got, the more anxious I became. Lucky for me, I’m an excellent student and no one has ever bested me in the arena of homework. So I bought the books and I fell down the Google rabbit hole. I made lists, and I washed and organized her clothes.  I packed my two diaper bags so I could be “ahead of the game.” I decorated her nursery and I researched breastfeeding and sleep schedules. I filled my freezer with nutritious meals and lactation smoothies. I was ready. Now I could make a smooth and easy transition into motherhood. 
     I’m sure you know where this is headed by now. Cut to 3 weeks after baby: I gave up wearing shirts because I just kept leaking through all of them. So I’m walking around topless, staring at mountains of takeout boxes, and bouncing a crying baby as I yell for my husband to google whether I should give her a pacifier or if that will cause nipple confusion. It still remains a mystery to me.  In those first months, I spent hours crying in the bathroom, wondering why this was so damn hard. I was devastated that none of my research paid off and this kid had an agenda of her own that mostly involved scowling and not sleeping. Why could everyone else make it look so easy and what was wrong with me? I worried incessantly about what people thought about me and thought about my baby. I apologized and made up excuses on her behalf every time she cried in public. I took it personally if she blew out her diaper or refused to nap on schedule in spite of all my organized lists. I kept crying in bathrooms. After all that studying, after all that hard work, I was barely scraping by, and I was convinced that every other mom out there was living the Hallmark movie moments of my dreams.
     One afternoon, my daughter and I had a playdate with a new mom I wanted to befriend. This mom made the best brownies I’ve ever had in my life, and her daughter cooed and smiled throughout the entire hour and a half. I forgot the diaper bag and my baby had resting bitch face the whole time. I left feeling like the ultimate failure. 
     I called a friend from my car, sobbing, wondering why I wasn’t doing this right. I couldn’t get my baby to nurse or sleep, she seemed to hate me a little bit, and I was a walking disaster who could not hack it as a mom. My friend, with the best of intentions, told me I needed to stop stressing out and that I was worrying about nothing. Fuck. Now I had to worry about the fact that I was worrying too much. 
     I was vaguely aware that postpartum depression and anxiety affected a large majority of women, but I didn’t consider the possibility that it was affecting me until that afternoon. I thought the crippling panic was just the status quo for new moms. I assumed the self-doubt, paranoia of judgment, and never feeling good enough were just the norm. 
     It wasn’t until my daughter was about a year old that I became a slightly more recognizable version of myself. I began to realize just how big of a grip depression, hormones, and sleep deprivation can have on someone who is trying so hard to be perfect at something she’s never done before. Throw in Pinterest and mom-shaming and that’s the ultimate recipe for self-loathing. 
     I look at the mom I was 4 years ago, and I want to go back in time and just give her hugs and caffeine and tell her it will be OK. I want to tell her that no one is judging her more than she is judging herself, and if they are, that's their problem, not hers. I want to tell her that she has a strong tribe of women to listen to, and to tune out all the other noise. I would tell her that no matter what, every decision she makes will hail her as a war criminal in someone’s eyes, so just wave the white flag already. Stop trying to please everyone and give yourself a little grace. Get off the internet. BabyMama73 doesn’t know what’s best for you or your baby. Own your choices. You’re doing the best you can, and ask for help when you need it. It doesn’t matter that your coworker’s son is better at baby sign language. Your baby is safe and loved. Everything else is just a bonus. 
     It's been a few years since exiting that fog of depression and anxiety, and I'd like to think I'm just the slightest bit wiser. The newest member of our family just turned one, and I’m a different person and a different mom now. I know now that raising an infant is a bit of a shit show, but that doesn’t mean I’m not doing it right. I know he’ll be OK and to trust my instincts because they know better than a book. I know to cuddle him hard because he won’t be little much longer. And I know that the fear of judgment and judgment itself never really goes away, so the only thing I can do is own it. 
And here is what I own these days: 
  • I needed antidepressants to help me through postpartum depression.
  • Both my babies ended up drinking formula. 
  • Neither of my babies has yet to perfect baby sign language. 
  • Everything in my house is covered in a layer of yogurt and/or peanut butter. 
  • My 4-year-old still crawls into bed with me in the middle of the night and I don’t actually mind. 
  • My daughter gets her poop and booger humor from me, but I will adamantly deny this to her preschool teacher
  • I’ve gone on vacation without my kids
  • Sometimes I swear too much in front of my children, and some days they get more screen time and more sugar than the American Pediatric Society recommends.
  • Sometimes I would rather hang out with my kids than go to happy hour after work, and sometimes I would rather organize my silverware drawer than hang out with my kids. 
  • My only social media posts these days are of my babies, and there is a Starbucks barista out there who has dubbed me as “the lady who shows her baby pictures to strangers” 
  • I still spend a lot of time on Google looking for all the answers and sometimes it’s really hard to tune out BabyMama73
  • I literally think my kids are cuter than just about anything on this Earth
  • I fail every single day at something, but I’m a good mom. My kids are safe and loved, and I make no more apologies. 
This was originally written and performed for Expressing Motherhood on April 15, 2018. Here's a link to the live performance in iTunes where you can hear my sexy phlegm voice after week 3 of Bronchitis.