Early motherhood: I don't know how, but I'm really trying.

So, these days I spend a lot of my extra moments (the few that there are) snapping photos of my little girl with my phone. I received a text from a friend yesterday informing me that every picture of her that I post on Facebook is pushing him toward becoming diabetic. I am okay with that. I waited a long time to decide to have her, and my husband and I worked really hard to have her after we finally decided we were ready. It's hard to apologize for this kind of happy.

One of my responses to my friend rings so true and loudly for me: "I, of course, think every moment of her existence is adorable."

I am pretty sure every parent feels that way about their children, even in the most frustrating and stressful of moments. I also joked yesterday that this feeling is a good one to have during those frustrating moments. If they weren't so cute, how would we make it through?

Early motherhood is a difficult time. I might have made a mistake. I intentionally didn't try to read up on parenting and what's supposed to be the best method for everything. Maybe it's a little arrogant or naive, but I don't believe anyone truly knows the best method for everything. I'm pretty sure that over the thousands upon thousands of years that we as a species have been parenting children, we have been doing a lot of things wrong, and accidentally doing a lot of things right.

The only book I read from start to finish was "Happiest Baby on the Block," because it was recommended by a friend whom I really trust, and whose opinion I really value. There were lots of take-aways from that book, but one that resonates most with me right now is how mothers outside of the Western world parent--they do it together. It's a different kind of "together" than what I think we think of. Women in villages actually take turns caring for children--holding them, feeding them, caring for them. They don't have, or need the benefit of books on the subject or visits from "Parents as Teachers" representatives. I'm sure they get things wrong too, but there's a gentle kindness about the way they do things and support each other that I wish we had more of in our culture.

Who we are now.

It's hard to be a new mom and to know you don't know anything, and to feel like you aren't doing things right. That nagging feeling you get when people ask or comment about your baby's schedule comes mostly from a place of truth within yourself that you wish you did know more and that you think you are doing at least part of it wrong. And then you find yourself in a desperate place of playing catch up on all of the things you feel like you should have known.

I should have known that when she was pulling at her ears and rubbing her face and head that she was tired, but I didn't. She's had a rash. I figured that's what was bothering her--if I even noticed at all.  I should have known that she was having trouble sleeping because she was too tired. These days, I can barely keep my eyes open while I nurse her, so the idea that anyone in my house would fail to sleep when they are tired is a concept I am too tired to comprehend.

The questions aren't meant to be judging or hurtful. I have come to realize, even this early on, that once you start ticking off the days of motherhood, it's like a survivors' club. You feel compelled to share what's working for you, even if nobody asks. You do it because you are so excited that something you did actually did work or was right. You do it because so little of what you are doing, or what you did, felt right at the time, and the only way you survive is by only remembering the things that were good. Otherwise, you would be certain that you had permanently harmed your child every single day. Who could live with that feeling? Only a mom who doesn't actually care.

That second night in the hospital, I had an epiphany. I know that I have already written about it, but it's still at least partly where this blog originates. Willow was crying incessantly, and nothing I did calmed her. As a new, little family, we were beside ourselves. But all I cared about was what she was going through. All I cared about was how much I never wanted her to have a moment of sadness, pain or the frustration I was sure she felt in that moment. There is nothing I wouldn't do for her. It reduced me to tears as well.

In the weeks since we brought her home, that hasn't changed. And in those weeks, I have posted dozens of pictures of her on Facebook, and I have taken countless others. People have tried to decide if she looks more like me, or more like my husband. I look at her and I have no idea. She might have my nose and my ears. She has her daddy's hairline. But ultimately, I keep thinking that she looks like Willow. She looks like no one I have ever known. She is a whole new person.

Willow at 3-weeks. She's resting very comfortably in my belly cast.

On "How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb," by U2, there's a track entitled "Original of the Species." The Edge and Bono wrote it about their daughters. I always liked it, but I never really got it until the last seven weeks. It's exactly how I feel about my little girl. The premise is that this person they write about is like no one who has ever existed before. This person is so special that they are apart from everything else that came before.

When I listen to the lyrics now, I think of how I want her to grow up. I want her to know how special and important she is--just as she is. I think it's harder for girls. Everyone wants to fit in and to feel a part of their peer group. In spite of it being called out and spotlighted by up-and-coming celebrities like Jennifer Lawrence, and by companies like Dove, appearance is still such a giant part of whether you are liked as a female. That part of who we are as a culture forces our daughters to choose between being who they truly are and want to be, and trying to fit into a box that everyone else fits into so they can have friends and not feel ostracized. I can't stand the thought that my girl will have to make such choices.

All kids can be be mean, but I think girls can be particularly so. I grew up around several mean girls, and sadly, I think that even as women, we can be unsupportive of each other and mean spirited at times. For the first time in my life, I understand why some parents choose to home school their children. When I think of potentially subjecting my Willow to dealing with the mean girls whom she might encounter, or just as bad that she could become one herself, I already cringe. At the same time, if I didn't send her to school with other children, she'd have a rude awakening as a young woman--not the time to learn that the world is sometimes a hard place in hard ways.

I know at the beginning and end of the day, all any parent can do is their best. All we can do is pick up the knowledge we need as we go along and hope that the mistakes we make aren't the worst kind. All we can do is love our kids more than life itself, and teach them that they are worthy of that love, and anything else in their lives that they seek.

My Willow really is one of a kind. She "feels like no one before," as the Edge and Bono write. Everyday, I will tell her "I want the lot of what you've got, and I want nothing that you're not," because that's how I truly feel. Everything she is, is perfect to me, and anything else she tried to be but herself would never be true.

Everything I try and fail at; everything I don't get right, or get right by accident--these are the things that are going to shape her into who she will be. That's why every mistake you think you're making along the way feels so painful. You don't want your babe to "survive" her childhood--especially if you actually did survive your own. You want everything they experience to be better than what you experienced--even if what you experienced was great.

Nothing can ever be enough for them, because there's no one like them.

Original of the Species--U2

Pin It