You may pretend you are fine, functioning, because you are still able to sauté the garlic a perfect golden brown and vacuum the dog hair off of the Chinese rug and put on mascara and cut the baby's tiny fingernails without drawing blood. And yet, you are totally detached.
Hammocks, spa treatments, hired help, warm foods, arctic cradles, and cardboard... there does not appear to be a universal answer to coping with sleep deprivation as a new mom, so most of the world seems to have adapted their own.
Our bodies don't stay the same; of course they don't. They evolve, they show signs of a life lived, a life loved. As they should. They bear witness to where we've been, that we've been. They are like maps that tell the tale of our time, our travels.
For me, caring for a new baby varied from one hour to the next. I was learning to take it day by day. I loved my daughter, but found sleep deprivation, feeding and learning how to intuit and read my baby's cries overwhelming at times.
You were by my side as I fell madly, deeply, head over heels in love with the beautiful little boy who completed our family. You supported me as my first sweet son curled up behind me in the rocking chair. You told me that we would all start healing together.
If there are any moms reading this who are still in that post-baby stage of figuring things out, I hope that you will feel comforted that you are not the only one struggling to navigate this overwhelming time of life.
. I realize Perfection has many shades of it. I always say I don't try to be perfect, until I am in some area, be it parenting, business, fitness, or whatever I feel I'm sucking at in that moment. It's sneaky. Dig deeper to find out that FEAR is the mastermind.
For six months, I had trouble sleeping, racing thoughts, extreme anxiety, dread and suicidal thoughts. My husband would come home to find various configurations of alarm. I did not feel a bond with my daughter.
Assuming your equipment is in mint condish, whether you actually want to get to cuddling after the mind-numbing work of caring for a newborn is and should be the biggest determining factor in how to proceed down the tenuous path of doin' the dirty post-baby.
These are the words I wish I'd read before jumping headlong into the mommyhood with my books and my charts and my ideals and my high horses. They're flawed, and they aren't all pretty, but they're hard-won and honest and as true as I can get 'em.
I knew I was at a high risk. I had a plan: I could go up on the anti-depressants I took. I could attend postpartum support groups and get a therapist. I was prepared. Except, you can't really be prepared.