The hormonal dust has settled. Most days the heavy fog brain lifts to a fine mist. I can function with consistently broken sleep on two cups of coffee a day—one with breakfast and one around 3 is my sweet spot.
Twelve months into Motherhood has given me an undeniable shine and a well-earned grit.
Almost immediately after birth and for about 6 months that followed I developed what they call “mommy’s thumb”, a common form of carpal tunnel from repetitive movements (holding baby, feedings, pushing a stroller, etc). My wrists and tendons were numb and tingly at best, a radiating burn down to my elbow at its worst.
Jordan got a scratched cornea from a combination of sleep deprivation and dry eyes— surprisingly no tiny finger nails were involved. Twice a day he’d smear a goopy prescription medication directly inside and around his bloodshot pupil to prevent infection.
Then there was my Postpartum Anxiety (PPA). It piqued during the newborn days. Everything posed a threat: blankets, hardwood floors, other drivers, an appliance malfunction that could turn into a scene from Final Destination. My imagination ran wild. Jordan and I would walk into a store in broad daylight and divide and conquer on opposite aisles like we often do. If I couldn’t hear familiar baby babbles or see our stroller in my periphery, I’d call in a sweaty panic by the second unanswered ring. Apparently these ailments are common for new parents.
Many describe becoming a mother as turning into a new person. I still recognize myself—I’m just more of who I already was. More protective. More capable. More soft. More joyful. More emotional.
My capacity to love grew bigger than I ever imagined, and so did the space for anxiety. It’s terrifying to care about something so deeply. Mothers carry so much, all the time. I wish I could hug mine right now and thank her for everything she carried for me so I didn’t have to.
A big part of maintaining my sense of self was continuing the things that filled my cup. We’d bring Lennon along to local events or to the park. Even at an early age, Jordan and I would go on dates that average college kids skipped over. We were the pair spending weekends at science museums, catching matinee showings, and bringing library books along to picnics. In every city we visited, we’d find the nearest botanical garden. Adding the hypothetical baby that we’ve been talking about for so long has felt, natural.
Even the not as baby friendly activities hasn’t deterred us from bringing him along for the exposure. Thrifting, coffee dates and going out to eat with friends are second nature to him at this point. Sure I could do these things without him. Get a babysitter or enjoy them solo which I do once in a while. But things are so much fun as a trio. It’s a joy to watch him watch the world. He’s on his way to frequent flier status with a trip to the West Coast around the corner.
For all the things that clicked into place, there were previous non-negotiables I’ve had to bend on. I still breastfeed—something I didn’t expect to continue doing a year in and we cosleep—something I wasn’t planning on doing at all. He hasn’t touched a bottle or a crib in lord knows how long. It’s a privilege to be this needed. But the pressure on days I’m already feeling depleted is immense.
My baby inherited a lot from me, a light sleeper being one of them. Shifting positions or sneaking to the bathroom often wakes him no matter how agile I think I’m being. A few inches apart is all it takes before he cries out for me. The constant latching on and off makes me feel like a human pacifier. Jordan steps up in so many ways, but the night shift is one that falls on me. Funny how all the tip toeing and determination to night-wean as I stare at the ceiling dissipate by morning with my first cup of coffee.
Some projects inevitably fall off the priority list when you become a parent. The unfinished nursery being ours. As someone who loves to decorate every inch of my home, my grand Pinterest ideas of a vintage meets eclectic little boy’s room fell by the wayside. The unexpected move and smaller space are my default excuse for not getting it together sooner. We’re hosting a friend this weekend. After her visit, the space will slowly turn into 75% nursery and 15% office/guest-room instead of the other way around. I love having his things scattered around the house adding childhood magic and whimsy to everything he touches.
Releasing expectations made me a better Mom. Let it be, as The Beatles say. I’m proud of my baby for all the things he’s learning and all the things he continues to become on his own time. The way we pivot together.
Parents deserve celebrating, too. They constantly reach milestones that go unnoticed. Like learning to trim paper thin nails or taking their baby out solo for the first time. Mastering the art of diapering or whatever thing they found difficult or intimidating that no longer gets a second thought.
My baby’s birthday is this weekend followed by mine two days after that. A double Gemini celebration. I’ll help him blow out his first candle knowing I already got what I wished for.
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