This is me and the Itty Bitty Brewster this morning:
And the reason I look like crap is that I had just spent a good 15-20 minutes crying hysterically.
Why was I crying when I had such a cute armful of baby? Well, I’ll tell you.
I was crying because I get angry and frustrated at being stuck at home with a tiny tyrant when I’m used to being able to go to work and do productive, adult, nurse-y things without worrying about anyone but myself. Because IBB has been really grumpy the last few days and I’ve essentially been living for when she’s napping or eating because otherwise I have no flaming clue what to do with her. Because I have no motivation to get anything done and I don’t want to bother anyway because the clean stuff will just get dirty and the clutter will just reappear and the clothes will just need to be washed again. And because I’ve been trying to run and eat right and I haven’t lost any weight beyond my pre-pregnancy level.
And I was crying because I get myself so freaked out that Itty Bitty is going to be needy and whiny and bossy all the time. And that not only did we ruin things by having another kid but we extra super ruined things by having one who is hard. And it’s somehow my fault and if I were a better mother I could fix her and make her an easy happy baby. Which is crazy, I know, because she’s 7 weeks old. She’s still brand new.
And I was crying because the last straw was that I baked something in the oven and some grease on the bottom burned off and it stunk up the house. And that’s just the universe being cruel.
The problem – as I see it when I can step back to see it (or when it is pointed out to me) – is that I’ve not really accepted where the Itty Bitty and I are on our journey. She is little. And she does need lots of cuddles and holding and time with me. And I need to accept that my days right now are drastically different than they used to be (and how I would prefer them). Maybe I spend most of the day on the couch, with a sleepy baby on my arm and Best Fiends on my phone. Maybe IBB has a day where she’s content to watch me sweep and mop and fold clothes from her bouncy seat and I get to feel more traditionally productive. Maybe both scenarios are good ones and I need to be a little easier on both of us.
Motherhood is hard. And I don’t care if this is your first time, your third, or your tenth. Mothering a teeny tiny baby is really hard. And social media and society and my own inner voices telling me that I should be able to do it all and have a clean house and a fit body and a perfect family 7 weeks postpartum need to shut the hell up.
So my goal for today is to work on acceptance. And cuddle Itty Bitty without acrimony. And beat the next level on Best Fiends.
I think that would qualify as a productive day.