A common conversation around the house regarding baby: "Have you tried X technique? It worked yesterday." "But today isn't yesterday." Seriously, just when you think you've gotten the hang of something, the pattern changes.
I don't know of anything else that could have made me feel worse or more of a failure. Those words confirmed my worst fears: I am not good enough. I am not doing enough. I am not strong enough. I am not capable. I am a failure.
Who am I to argue against the romance of "When a child is born, a mother is born?" I get it. But the part they left off, the asterisk to this sweet quote, does the woman before the mother die when the mother is born? Where does she go?
Interrupting the daily routine with a getaway isn't a luxury, it's a necessity. And for us and many others, these breaks have meant the difference between having a thriving relationship and getting a divorce.
I desperately wanted to get to know these other moms, to connect with them, to make a friend. But, really, they scared me half to death with their angelic babies, their new mom glows, and their judging eyes.
For the first year of my daughter's life, everything was big: big love, big frustration, big anxiety, big mood swings, big me. Not since I was a teen had I been so transfixed by my own now-shriveled navel.
Last year, on Mother's day, I found out I was pregnant. I can hardly believe it's been a year since that gleeful Mother's Day. Only a year later, and life is a completely different shade of tumbling. I have become the mother of a rather scrumptious little girl.