Mama

     This weekend my son said his first word. It is a day that I have been looking forward to with bittersweet anticipation since the day he was born. Sweet because it is such a huge, important milestone in his life. As a therapist, I value this achievement for him more than any other. I know how empowering it is for a child to gain the ability to vocalize their internal feelings, wants and objections for others to be able to hear and understand. Bitter because I was sure that I was going to miss that first beautiful sound. As a working mom, so much of my time is spent away that I feared that I would miss this special achievement. I also wondered what his first word would be... I assumed that because I am away so much, my presence might not even occupy much of his thoughts. He doesn't always expect me to be there because well, I am not always there. And this breaks my heart. It is just one of the million things that fill my mother's guilt jar, already filled to the brim only 7 short months into my parenting adventure.

     I also wonder because, like all moms I think, I rarely feel like I have my shit even remotely together. I see my own flaws so clearly. My heart is in the right place. That's for sure. I want more than anything to be a good mom. I try my absolute hardest, but God do I struggle. I think that is a pretty common part of the mommy experience, however. Relentless self doubt. I constantly feel like me and my little buddy are holding on by a thread.

      A solid 75 percent of the time when I park my car I forget where it is. I leave the store, rain or shine, shopping bags, diaper bag and stroller all jumbled around me like some kind of f-ed up tornado and wander around the parking lot pushing desperately on my little key fob trying to figure out where my car is parked. I look down at the sweet little face gazing up at me and I think, “poor kid, I'm his adult in this crazy, scary world and I am a freaking moron.” The worst part is, I'm really trying. There are a lot of parents out there who really don't try. Either they don't care that much or they struggle with drug problems or they were never raised properly so they never really had good parenting role models to begin with... A lot of reasons. But this is me. A 34 year old very educated woman who wanted to get pregnant forever, who is really trying her absolute best. It's scary.

     I feel like I am constantly screwing up. I'm always learning, but unfortunately it is at Archer's expense. Thank God he is a pretty resilient kid thus far. I'm either heating up his homemade organic food in the microwave housed in a plastic cup, or using thawed milk to make the food, then refreezing it. Over a month into making him food and I'm just learning that all of that is wrong.

     I still struggle to breastfeed with any dignity and have flashed more family, friends and waitresses at lunch than I'm proud to admit. I know how to use my stroller like I know how to use my phone, meaning only the parts that I have had to learn and use to get by. It's all learning on the fly for me and I don't retain information that well when I have a screaming infant in my ear during the lesson so I tend to still struggle with the mechanics of the whole thing. I see other mothers gracefully leaping in and out of their cars with ease as I'm still fumbling trying to get my stroller to fold up and I wonder, do they practice at home first? Do they go on test runs without the baby at some point? What the hell am I missing?

     Archer fights me at nap time and I see so much of myself in him at these moments. He is so afraid he is going to miss something and I completely get it. I feel guilty though when I've been away at work all day and he is so cranky and tired when I get home and I just want to get him to sleep. I've missed him all day, how can I want him to sleep now that I'm here? But I'm exhausted and so is he and even though I know it is in both of our best interests that he sleep, I still feel awful. At the end of a day at home I am physically exhausted and I feel badly about how much I look forward to my evening shower for a minute to myself. At the end of my work day I am mentally exhausted and feel badly about how much I look forward to my evening shower for a minute to myself. I can't win.

 

     This is a wonderful time in history to be a mom.  There is a huge community of mothers out there online to turn to for information and support.  This is also a horrible time in history to be a mom.  There is a huge community of mothers out there online to show you how much better they are at mommying than you are.  It's impossible to not compare yourself to the mother whose kid always looks like they stepped out of a catalogue while your's just shot gravity defying, liquid, projectile poop out of his butt up the entire back of his shirt.  Or the mom who has full hair and make-up done on a Saturday.  I don't know anything about that life.  All I know is, my boobs are leaking down my shirt and I'm pretty sure there is poop on my elbow.  That's my world. 

     I have felt like a walking circus since hour one of day one of parenting. Every time I took Archer's diaper off for the first 3 months of his life, he peed on me. Every time. If he was at the doctors office and they took his diaper off three times, then I got peed on three times. It didn't even matter where I stood in the room, that stream always found me. My child hated tummy time so I wouldn't force him to lay there crying. Everything I read said that he needed it, but I just couldn't do it to him. Rather than force him, I just played with him sitting up so his neck could get strong that way. But the entire time I beat myself up for my wishy washy parenting. He and I often eat together which means that I drop crumbs on him while breastfeeding. Most of his pajamas have spots on them not from him, but from whatever I was eating during his most recent meal. I want to read to him every night but usually I'm just too tired so the poor kid only gets books on the weekend. I would love to say that he gets to go to fancy places when I'm off work but those days are generally for running my errands so our exciting outings are usually to Target or the post office.

     We go to swimming classes every weekend because I want him to get used to the water but I don't force him to blow bubbles because he hates it. I feel like a bad mom for not pushing him, but I would feel worse if I made him hate the water so I don't. I also won't force him to sleep in a crib or go to bed when I'm still up because he prefers to go to bed with me. I have been told many times by many people that this is a bad parenting choice and maybe those people are right. But I hate that the majority of our time together during the week is in the evening while he is sleeping so I cherish our experience of co sleeping. It is time for me to snuggle him and feel close to him again after the long day away. It may not be award winning parenting, but I would hate having to dust a trophy anyway.

     I never feel like I know what I'm doing. I always feel like I am learning on the job, figuring it out as I go along. I imagine that is what everyone is doing, but it looks more elegant and less chaotic when it's someone else, anyone else. I feel like a failure when his little butt is red from diaper rash. I feel neglectful any time he topples over while playing and I wasn't watching close enough to catch him. I feel like I need to look up and ask people everything. I always have a million questions and those answers usually just lead to more questions. Jim and I gave up on sanitizing everything about a month in. We have three cats and I have a 3 year old nephew. We lost the war on germs before it even began.

     I feel badly when I catch myself counting the months to my year goal when I'll be able to stop breastfeeding. I love it, but I will also love getting my boobs back and finally being able to just keep them in my shirt for a change. I worry that his nighttime mommy isn't as fun as his daytime mommy aka, my mother who babysits him while I'm at work. I try so hard to be the mother that he deserves and so many days I'm left feeling like I fell short.

     These worries swirl around the folds of my subconscious constantly, always ready to knock me down a few pegs just as I feel like I'm getting the hang of things. But not this weekend. This weekend, I sat with my little man on my lap and heard his sweet little voice above everyone else in the room. “Ma-ma-ma-ma.” “Ma-ma.” “Mama.” “Mama.” If my heart could sing it would have sung an opera and in that moment I allowed the relentless self doubt and the negative internal dialogue that we mommy's carry around with us everyday next to the extra diapers and wipes fall silent. What they had to say wasn't important to me anymore. What my son had to say, was.