I'm a first-time mom, and there have been many times in the past seven months when I've wished for some type of device that could record the absurd thoughts running through my head, especially at night.
Your advice doesn't feel like help. It feels like control. You don't want our happiness. You want our obedience. You don't want us to be better parents. You want us to be complacent children. But guess what? We're going to do things and decide things that look CRAZY to you.
Let the waves come, murmur a seafaring song, and know this: in any moment of new motherhood that is rough going for you, there are countless like you; there are also others for whom that very same moment was transcendent and amazing (and you'll probably hear all about it).
If you are loosely, even somewhat of an expert, I will probably welcome your opinion. However, if you haven't been around a child in decades, I, and others in my shoes, may find some of your thoughts to be questioning.
I know this is all so fresh. It's all new. It's a world you hoped for and when it came, it unlocked a part of you that you didn't know was there. It unlocked a lifetime of love, all stored up for those big, blue eyes.
I nursed my son for two years and I hope to do the same with my daughter. I fully believe that "breast is best" (at least most of the time), and I will gladly talk your ear off about the benefits of nursing. But would you believe me if I told you that I hated nursing so much that I almost quit?
Before I got pregnant, I spent more than a decade dieting, picking apart my every flaw and obsessing over my jean size. But now, as my daughter celebrates her first birthday, I'm happier than ever with my body. Yes, even the stretch marks.
I've always thought that if I complained, asked for help, or took a break that it somehow meant I was giving in and letting my struggles get the best of me. Thankfully, I'm here to tell you that that's just not true. It really is OK to complain sometimes.
This is what motherhood did to me. Motherhood turned me into someone else. Someone who, on most days, I don't recognize. Motherhood took the former me and shook her up a bit. Rocked the ground on which she once stood.
Someone who has just given birth deserves some care. Some rest. Without worrying about anyone's expectations, wants or demands. Without anyone telling her that she should be doing something different or, God forbid, more.