Reflecting on the First 10 1/2 Months of Being a Mommy...

Happy Tuesday, ladies! I hope everyone is enjoying this cloudy day. We got past Monday and that is already something to celebrate, right? I tried to make the most of yesterday, which seems to have helped me get back to my usual weekday pace today. (I am praying it sticks.) Something I've noticed lately is that when I work out a good chunk of my to-do list (whether it be in one day or over the course of several days), I am able to reflect a little better at some point and relax a little more. Today I am finding that all of that work yesterday has helped me out today.  After weeks of telling Reagan that he doesn't have to cry but can instead simply say "Hey!" when he wakes up and we will come get him, it seems to have finally taken. After the annoying alert on Justin's phone this morning, we both heard little knees and hands scrambling in the bed across the hall. Then, clear as day, we heard the sweetest, happiest, much-too-alert for that early in the morning "Hi!". We both had to laugh. He even did it again at 9 o'clock. You just can't hear that sweet voice, and enjoy that sort of satisfaction from realizing you got through to your baby and not at least attempt to enjoy your day. I was welcomed with hugs and kisses and the sweetest of smiles when I got him out of bed for the day. He played and pulled out a million different things in our room while I got ready. I managed to get dressed and put on my makeup quickly. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided today is just not one of those days when I should care about the remnants of a baby bump. I wish I could say it were gone most days, or at least that I think sensibly about it every day, but alas I can not. Today though, I am going to be grateful, as I should be. The only one that knows that bump is there still is me. My clothes are modest and cover it well. That small bump is just one more remnant of one of the happiest parts of my life. I prayed for that bump. I prayed for the scar just beneath it, and every stretch mark that remains. More importantly, I prayed for the beautiful little boy that called it his home for 10 months (because we all know they lay low those first few weeks). It is where I watched my belly grow; where I rested my hand for months as if my angel baby knew it were there for him already. It is where my sweet boy and I first got to know each other. Each hiccup brought on the flutter (and eventual strong punches) of kicking legs and swinging arms, as if he were angry and trying to run from them. It's where I felt him "hide" from the nurse each month as she tried to locate his heartbeat. I say hide because only seconds before she would walk into the room, he would be a little Mexican jumping bean in there. He was nosy even back then because I swear he only got still to listen to the other voices in the exam room. It is where my sweet boy learned mine and Justin's voices. It is where he learned my heartbeat, and where I first got to hear his. As I order prints to display for his 1st birthday party in just a little over a month, I am amazed by this little person playing and exploring around me. The separation anxiety bug seems to finally be letting up, and his natural curiosity is motivating his every move. He's moving furniture, trying to climb into his playpen where I just moved the party decorations, and stopping off to grab a sip of water from his cup on the floor every now and then. He's crawling off to his room, knowing I will follow him, and then motioning to sit in his rocking chair alone (because apparently he knows how). I think of this independence and am so grateful to see it, and yet so surprised at the same time.  In so many ways life has gotten easier now with a baby in our home. Then again, I wonder if maybe life is still just as crazy, only in different ways now. Perhaps it is us that have adjusted to the ever-changing needs and wants of our baby boy. Perhaps in the initial change we weren't as prepared as we thought and fought it harder than we realized. Actually, now that I think about it, maybe we didn't fight it. I think maybe in seeing all of the new changes and needs, learning about this new person who needed us so much, and trying to learn at the same time what we needed from each other that we just gave in and let ourselves become so incredibly overwhelmed. Somewhere in there I think we got it together a little better. We learned to have meltdowns and then shake it off and pull it together. We learned to stop sometimes and accept the things we can't control. Haha! Okay, so we are still learning as we go. I should simply say- I think we have had to accept what we have to accept, learn what we are continuously being taught, and live knowing we never know exactly what is around the corner (or, more relatively speaking, in the next five seconds). I think we fight harder though. I think somewhere in there, you just have moments where you realize you can either sink or swim. The last 10 1/2 months have been full of moments like that for me. Here is one (actually, the very first one)-

This picture is branded in my mind and onto my heart. This was not the first time I held him. This was actually 2 days after he was born. Up until that morning, I know at least for myself that I was feeling just a little cocky. Recovery was going well for me, much better than I had anticipated. Reagan was staying in our room except for when the nurses took him twice a day to check on him. He was nursing whenever he wanted to. He would smile every time that they brought him back to us and snuggle on us when we held him. We were changing his diapers and watching him sleep. I knew it would get harder, but I really couldn't imagine it. That morning, I sat waiting for them to bring me my baby back from the nursery. I watched the on-call pediatrician walk in and smiled at her; fully confident that she was just going to tell me how perfect and beautiful our sweet boy was. Instead, she was cold and abrupt. She told us she suspected jaundice and then went on to tell me she was having blood work done in the nursery to confirm her suspicions. She then added that not nursing him enough would have caused it to show up, and that it would also explain his weight loss. (He had lost nearly a pound in 48 hours.) She explained the protocol for ridding babies of jaundice while in the hospital, and, while writing up an appointment for Monday morning with our pediatrician (whom she shares a practice), immediately suggested supplementing with formula. I listened and nodded and said "yes, ma'am" so many times that I can not even remember. My head spun with so many thoughts. My heart raced as I tried to control all of the emotions running through me in those few, short minutes. When she walked out of the room I tried to comprehend who exactly I was mad at. I was upset with the nurses briefly because they were the ones who told me to nurse him only when he showed signs of hunger rather than on the traditional every-two-hour schedule I had anticipated. I was upset with our pediatrician because there had been no mention of it the day before when he checked on our son. Then there was this doctor. She had spoken about my baby and what all concerns I should have about him with as much empathy and consideration as you give to a car running low on fuel and your need to stop at a gas station soon. She hadn't even known his name. Then I stopped and pointed the finger at the most responsible person of anyone- me. In my mind, in less than 48 hours I had screwed up my baby. I had taken this precious, innocent little person that I had promised God I would take care of if He would trust me with him, and I had neglected to notice his need. I had let myself believe I was doing everything right and that I hadn't missed anything. I had let myself believe it was that easy. The thought of my sweet boy in the nursery brought me to tears. I knew he had already had his blood taken 2 days before and having it done once more wouldn't be remembered, but at that moment I felt responsible. If it hadn't been for me, he wouldn't have to have it done. He would have been back in our room, being cuddled and loved on. Maybe I shouldn't have kept him in our room after all. I remember that horrible feeling- that sinking, helpless, "I am the most stupid mommy" feeling as if it were right now. I kept trying not to cry because I was paranoid that they would think I had postpartum and worry about me. The doctor hadn't even checked on me for the day yet, so this was a concern to me. When the nurse brought me our baby though, I couldn't help it. (I owe that poor woman a huge apology because she ended up crying and actually stopping to hand Reagan to me before she left. She didn't even know why I was upset.)  Everyone kept telling me that it was no big deal and that most babies get it. I already knew this. Truly I did. I had read about it, gone in expecting that it MAY happen, and even reminding myself that I had had it when I was born. In that moment though, after letting myself think I had it all under control, I was not reasonable. My mother was an angel that day. She came to visit with my sister, and I remember telling her what the doctor had told us. At first, she said the same as everyone else. It wasn't because she didn't care, but because she was reasonable and had been in my place before. She knew what I didn't seem to be able to accept right then- everything would be okay and no one was to blame. That is the thing about a real mother though- you always need them in one way or another. That morning, I needed her sanity and her certainty. I needed her empathy and her understanding. She saw my tears and rather than telling me what I thought everyone else was thinking (which was that I was completely and utterly insane and stupid), she understood. She understood that I was so full of emotion- not just hormones, but real, new, scary emotions. She understood everything I was thinking and held my hand. I quit blaming myself right then and there. I was still scared. Being a mommy is always scary- ALWAYS. You have to decide though- what are you going to do? That morning, full of emotion and scared as I was, I could either give in to all of that self-hate, disappointment, shame, and doubt that was beating me up at the core, or... 

With the help of the sweet nurse who had seen my upset that morning, I was given some much needed and much appreciated nursing tips. My mother stood by my side, helping me as well. Both answered my questions and responded to the uncertainty and confusion they saw on my face at times. The plan was made. Reagan would come to our room every couple of hours. I would have to wake him (MUCH harder than it sounds back then), and then nurse him for as long as he would nurse. When he was done, I would have to call the nursery so a nurse could come get him. In the nursery, he would be put under a special light that would help rid him of any signs of jaundice. The more time in the nursery, the more effective the light would be. The more effective it was, the better his test the next morning would hopefully be. If his test came back good, we would be leaving the hospital together the next day. At first, Reagan would return to our room and offer me the biggest smile. It was as though he were looking at me and saying "Hey, Mommy! I am so happy to see you and Daddy.". After two trips to the nursery though, I noticed he seemed more tired. He quit smiling up at me after he nursed, and instead began to snuggle up close as if he knew I were fixing to hand him back to the nurse. My heart ached because all I could think in that moment was how much I wanted to hold him and keep him close. If I could just hold him all day, he would be happier and I would be happier and that would fix everything is what I wanted to think. Selfishly, I did for just a minute. A few times, I even prayed a little that the nurses would forget to come to the room and I would have more time with him. I would think of my own mother though. How many times had her heart broken as she worked to make me better when I was sick, or to teach me right from wrong all for the sake of doing what was best for me. That was the love I wanted to offer my sweet baby. That was what he would benefit from; not just in that moment, but from there on out. At one point I held him close and remember telling him that if he would just hang in there and bear with us through what had to seem like craziness to him, Mommy and Daddy would take him home and I would do everything I could to help us figure out this nursing thing. I remember realizing right then that I couldn't just promise to do something, but that I actually had to work through anything to make that promise happen. I didn't know how nursing would work out. I had no guarantee and I knew that. Still, I knew right then that I was going to have to let up on my dreams of being the perfect mommy; always smiling, always cradling her baby with pride, never having a moment of weakness. I could only ever do what I thought was best for him and that was what I would have to accept going forward.  A week later, he got it. He was waking himself up to be fed and latching without any issues. Our pediatrician never mentioned supplementing as an option, and showed no concern for the pound Reagan lost that weekend. In fact, he explained that babies typically lose weight after they are born. Birth weight is affected by them being swollen (just like a mommy's weight when she gives birth). Nursing takes time. I have to shout out to our nurses, too. They actually gave me a breast pump and offered to feed Reagan whatever I had to offer while he was with them. While he was under the light, they were supplementing with my own breast milk using a syringe. We went home using this same trick, and eventually decided to use the Tommee Tippee bottles we had bought just in case. Reagan, thankfully, never got confused and 6 weeks later was turning away from the bottles and would only take from me every time.  That hasn't been the only time I felt like I missed something, or that I've messed up. It was the first time though. It was also the first time I learned one of the most important lessons as a mommy. Being a mommy is hard. That is the truth. You can not possibly know everything. You can read everything. You can talk to everyone. You can make all the plans you want. You will never know it all though. I can not know it all. The same God that made the ultimate decision to give you that baby, is the only One that knows it all. I only know this- I love our sweet boy more than I ever could have imagined (and I imagined that I would love him to such a great degree before I ever met him or carried him inside of me). I love him so much that I want to always know him. I will always love him, but I want to always like him. This means taking care of him when he is sick, and watching him like a hawk. It means telling him no and listening to the disappointed tears that follow because he is human and wants what he wants when he wants it. This means losing sleep at times, and crying in the shower at times when I let myself get overwhelmed by the uncertainty that comes with being a mommy.

Our 1st Family Picture                                                                    10 1/2 Months Later Family Picture

Loving him also means enjoying this beautiful life that I am allowed to be a part of every day. It means basking in the quiet moments, when naps are successful or playing alone with his toys is all he wants. It means cheering for things that we take for granted every day, but he is learning to do them for the first time. It means talking to someone and waiting, who knows exactly how long, for him to understand and respond. Being a mommy is hard, but it is the most worthwhile thing I have signed up for. The best advice I think you can give a woman who is about to be a mommy is this- being a mommy is hard, but it is worth every ounce of fight you have. If you love your baby, you will fight to do what is best for them with such a love and such a strength that you just can not imagine. 

So this ended up being longer than I expected. Like I said though, sometimes you even have time to think straight. :)