I ain't the heavy, I'm your mommy.

 So, I know I've talked about reading blog posts about parenthood and discussions on mommy forums.

There was one a few months ago--before Willow came--that caught my attention. A woman expressed concern that she had feelings of fear that her husband would love their child more than he loved her. She felt terrible about this feeling of fearful envy.

I found that fear interesting, because I actually was more afraid that with the intensity of new motherhood, my husband would feel that I love our daughter more than I love him.

I'm pretty sure that neither fear is truly founded, but I can understand where they come from.

I have the great fortune of staying home with my daughter everyday. I had a vision of what that was going to look like, and parts of that vision were dead on, while others really missed the mark. I assumed that I would be busy each day, but I was very wrong about what I would be busy with.

I pictured myself tending to my daughter's needs of course, but I also envisioned that I would be maintaining our household at some level of cleanliness, and that I would be cooking meals and keeping up with laundry. I thought I might even fit in a little bit of writing here and there.

Tummy time.

It turns out that aside from managing feedings, diaper changes and tummy time, all I manage consistently is keeping my daughter's laundry and the dishes under control. I read a little, here and there, trying to learn what I can about things I can do to improve my daughter's early world, because she is now the center of mine. I both dread--because it feels like I'm rushing it all--and long for the days that she and I can talk to each other and do more things, because I want her to know how much her mommy truly loves her. And I want to know everything I can about her.

The hard part is that the intensity of everything frequently leaves a mommy tired, stressed and feeling like she just isn't doing enough, and the little she is doing, she's not doing well enough. And our children undoubtedly sense that in us.

Throughout the day, we both look forward to six o'clock, because we know that Daddy will be home. He thinks it's because I am waiting for him to rescue me--and sometimes, I am. But also, I get to see my little girl at her happiest time of the day--when she gets to spend time with her daddy.

He's a daddy who enjoys diaper changes, sticking out tongues and managing spit up. She finds him entrancing. I can watch the two of them play forever--but only after I get dinner going and clean up the kitchen.

I know that she doesn't love her daddy more than me, but sometimes, it's hard not to feel like the "heavy."

Willow is going through a phase during which she really doesn't like tummy time, but I know that she really needs it for her strength and development. Before she got here, I had no idea how much mucous a child could produce. I know, gross, right? The thought of it is as gross as using the magical NoseFrida on her, but I do it--and she hates it, especially the saline drops I put in her nose before the suction commences. I know she doesn't like to go to sleep at a reasonable hour. I'm trying to come to grips with the idea that I might have to start trying to get her to bed just when her daddy comes home from work--he misses her all day as it is.

And so, I feel like the heavy. But I guess in parental partnerships, someone has to be.

I was watching a rerun of Oprah's Master Class earlier this week. I actually had to watch it about four times, as I kept having to rewind, stop and restart it--another thing about motherhood I hadn't anticipated--the inability to focus on much of anything, or watch a television show lasting more than a half hour while my daughter is awake. It's impossible. It's probably why I've found myself watching things that don't require a lot of thought.

In this episode, country music star Reba McEntire was sharing her life story and her life lessons. For whatever reason, something she said about her parents really caught me. She described her mother as being very affectionate and fun. She described her father as serious and a hard worker. Her eyes lit up when she talked about both of them, but all I could wonder is what Willow will grow to think about her daddy and me.

Look at him. He's fun. 

Right now, my fear is that she will see me as the "heavy"--the one who tries to follow guideposts to a fault and who never has any fun, so nobody else gets to either. I know it's crazy, but when I'm fighting to get the saline drops in her nose for the NoseFrida and she is crying her eyes out, I don't feel like the fun one. When I am struggling to get her to sleep instead of just letting her kick and play, I don't feel like the one she'll come running to later when she wants to give hugs. When I roll her onto her tummy and try to encourage her to power through, in spite of her bulging and unhappy bottom lip, I don't feel like the one she will miss when she goes off to college.

I would rather learn to roll over than do tummy time.

I know every mom has silly fears. And as sure as these fears are crazy, and as sure as I am right now that Daddy is the fun parent, I know that our roles will likely shift, overlap and be in lock step at different moments. Right now, I'm the one who keeps her alive and growing by feeding her. I'm the one who fought so hard to carry her, because I wanted to put out a piece of the two of us into the world that would be so special and amazing. And the now fiercely maternal side of me wants to give her everything she needs to grow and thrive. My husband frequently said that he suddenly felt like he wanted to fight someone for me during my pregnancy, and he still says that he feels that way from time to time. Now that Willow is here, I just as fiercely feel I want to protect her from even the smallest perceived threat. I feel myself wanting to rip to shreds anyone or anything that might cause her harm.

Here's one of those bites.

Motherhood does some amazing and strange things to your brain. It feels like swallowing the universe whole, because everything about it is so big. And then, she smiles at me, and I realize that she is giving me a moment to "chew." She's giving me a moment to remember that even though many parts of the job are challenging and wearing, every single moment is a bite that I don't want to miss.

So, does it really matter if I am the "heavy" now? Does it really matter if she seems to warm up to her daddy more these days? No, because at the end of the day, I will have my bites to "chew" and he will have his.

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