Parenting

The “F” Word

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“First-time-mom” it is a term that elicits both giddy smiles and pompous eye rolls. “Motherhood is a whole new world,” a former colleague and fellow parent once told me, “it will show you a secret social circle and perspective on life that you never knew was there. Once you get that baby bump, you’re in.” She was right. What she didn’t tell me was that being a first-time-mom was a rite of passage… an initiation into the secret society that sometimes feels more like hazing than memorable life event.

Being a mom is hard — amazing, beautiful, exhausting, precious, tedious, funny, humbling, educational, agitating, life-changing — but hard. Being a first-time-mom, though… it’s overwhelming in every sense of the word. Never before have you felt such pain, love, responsibility, fear, exhaustion, change, awareness, humility, loneliness, cluelessness, or awe.

Sometimes we multi-child moms can scoff at the first-time-moms, belittling their fears, mocking their questions, snickering at their anxieties, lamenting their frequent pediatrician visits, filling them full of — solicited and unsolicited — advice. (Don’t even get me started on the, “just wait until…” habit. Let moms enjoy the stage in which they’re living. Let’s not instill fear or trepidation in our cohorts.) It is as if we entirely forget how it felt to be a first-time-mom. It’s as if we no longer acknowledge we were once full of exhaustion-drenched anxiety, questions, and hubris. Instead of rolling eyes at our new sleepless sisters, let’s help them along. Let’s open our hearts, offer our shoulders, and lend our support in ways we wish others had for us.

Parenting is something you must live to truly understand and experience to learn from… there is no way around it. So why should we expect first-time-moms to be anything but novice?

Some expectant moms have heard the moans of multi-child mothers and hope to skip the first-time-mom stage altogether. You cannot bypass first-time-motherhood. You can acknowledge, through self-awareness, when a level of anxiety may be novice, but there is no way not to be “a first-time-mom.” You are anxious because your entire life — your body, mind, perspective, relationships, routine, goals, everything! — has been upended in but a moment. You ask questions because this is all new and it is unlike anything you have ever experienced. You feel hubris because the triumphs you encounter feel momentous and you need to cling to a sense of knowledge amidst the chaos. Mostly, though, first-time-mom qualities are rooted in love. You love your offspring so much that it is simply terrifying; you have never experienced such an emotion. You will be a better mother for having lived through and allowed yourself to learn from all of this.

Motherhood is all about love. Let’s love one another. Welcome, first-time-moms!

 

Nearly Human

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#3 used to be a decent sleeper — he was somewhere between the torturous night-grazing of #1 and the dependable slumber of #2 — but the 4-month sleep regression changed all of that. He never quite got the hang of regularly sleeping through the night after that sleepless tailspin.

For the last two weeks, #3 (9-months-old) has been in some sort of sleep crapiness. He awakes to nurse — we’re talking competitive eating here, no “human pacifier” stuff — 6 times each night. I’ve forgotten what being rested or having a functioning mind feels like.

HOWEVER, last night he only awoke three times. That means I got REM sleep. Oh holy sleep gods, I feel as if I can do anything!

I actually remembered to put my tea in the kettle to steep. I didn’t groan like an old ship as I pulled myself out of bed this morning. I didn’t zone out in the middle of assembling my pump parts trying to remember what day it was. I feel nearly human! 

**Third-time-mom disclaimer: I know full well the danger of claiming one’s baby is sleeping better or well. I am not expecting REM sleep to be repeated, but it was nice last night. Be kind sleep gods!**

First Kid vs. Third Kid

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My parenting has changed drastically from having my first child to now with my third.

Naps-

#1: In the early weeks, I remained completely still as she napped on me multiple times each day. Had to pee? Hold it! Had to sneeze? Don’t even think about it! Later on, our schedule all day, every day revolved around her 2-naps per day schedule. She always napped in her crib. Plans would be rearranged if she overslept.

#3: He may catch a morning nap in the carseat or Ergo, but it’s not guaranteed; the afternoon nap happens at home but he will be stirred if he over-sleeps. We’ve got places to be!

Nursing-

#1: I hid in another room to nurse at family gatherings, even when she was cluster-feeding. I pumped to bottle feed in public. We always had a suction bulb nearby just in case. I feared nursing in public.

#3: He nurses in the Ergo multiple times per day. He stays latched as I chase after #1 & #2… I suspect I could latch him on without the carrier and he’d be able to dangle their by way of suction

Germs-

#1: Everybody had to scrub up before touching her. I attached hand sanitizer to her stroller. Any sniffles and you were banned. I feared older kids sharing their schoolyard cooties with her. No sitting on the floor without a blanket. Pacifiers were thoroughly cleansed if they touched anything but her mouth. Bottles were sterlized.

#3: Germs boost the immune system.

Sleep-

#1: I forced myself to sit up and stay awake for every single night feeding. I fretted over every sleep grunt or hiccup. I was entirely certain I’d never sleep again.

#3: He nurses in our bed while I try to catch some shut-eye. I’m still not sleeping.

Development-

#1: I documented her every movement in a journal. I wrote multi-page letters to her biweekly. I read “What to Expect the First Year.” I encouraged her physical development with great anticipation. We attended baby gymnastics classes and mommy-and-me swim. (She didn’t regularly walk until 19-months any way.)

#3: I have maybe two passages written in his baby book (note to self: try to remember when he got his first tooth… he’s on tooth #4 now.) He’ll walk when he walks and then I’m screwed.

Clothing-

#1: Everything was new and coordinated. Getting her dressed was fun. I changed her multiple times a day, completely redressing her every time her outfit had a smear, dribble, or spot on it.

#3: Any top + any pants = dressed. Unless he pooped up his back, wipe the onesie with a baby wipe and keep it rolling, everything is hand-me-downs anyway.

Food Introduction-

#1: It was a momentous occasion to introduce solid foods. Each mealtime was an event. Each food was painstakingly introduced with cautious assessment of possible allergic reaction.

#3: He hated purees. He eats what we eat.

Putting Baby Down-

#1: I would place her in her Exersaucer or baby swing, ensuring she was reasonably pleased before I tended to whatever duties required me to put her down.

#3: I put him on the floor.

Toys-

#1: Most of her toys were new. All were thoroughly washed and were sanitized if she ever got the sniffles.

#3: I maybe threw some of his cloth toys in the wash during a nesting frenzy before he was born… I think?? He plays with his own toys, as well as #1 and #2’s toys, but prefers trying to tear apart the shoe basket.

 

Life is nuttier with 3 kids, but it’s easier not being so caught up in the first-time-mom worry. That’s just exhausting! You have to live it to learn it.

Lowered Standards

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Sleeping in used to mean an 11am wake-up and perhaps even a post-shower nap on notably lazy mornings. Now — after 4+ nighttime nursing wake-ups — if I make it to 6:30am I’m pleased (tired, but pleased) and 7am is downright luxurious.

After a long day and a nursing-heavy night, all I wanted to do was sleep until 7am on this Saturday morning. 6am I’m awoken to nurse, 6:15am my nursling dozes off, 6:17 am I am out of bed and heading down to pump because I am engorged, 6:45am #3 and #1 are awake. 7:15am #2 is awake.

Maybe I’ll just try for 6:30am tomorrow.

Balance

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Parenthood is all about balance: enough fresh produce to outweigh the chicken nuggets, enough activity to counteract the episodes of Doc McStuffins, enough good mommy moments to blur the bad mommy moments. Balancing time is, perhaps, the most challenging balancing act. It’s an ever-changing scale and fraught with imperfections.

To balance “you” time with couple time, one-on-one child time, family time, socializing time, household duties time, extended family time — the list goes on — is a juggling act that’s bound to falter. If you throw work into the mix, it gets incredibly complex.

Four months after having #1, I returned to my corporate job but as a part-time employee. “What a perfect arrangement!” “You’re so lucky to have such a great balance!” People would say upon hearing of my work situation. It was good… but it wasn’t as perfect as it seemed.

Instead of being fully stay-at-home mom or entirely full-time employee, I existed somewhere in the middle with both home and work lives pulling me to give more. I felt as if I was half-ass’ing both sets of responsibilities. I couldn’t prioritize work without falling through on parenting and home duties, and giving more of myself at home meant scaling back at work. The one item missing in this work verses home balance: me. I was so harried trying to simultaneously be both working mother and stay-at-home mother that I had left “me” time out of the equation entirely… and couple time was nonexistent.

After having #2, and still working part-time, the only “me” time I had was when I was pumping breast milk for my son and eventually for donation. Then, a few significant corporate reorganizations presented me with the opportunity to adjust my hours. I cut back to 15 hours per week instead of 20 hours. That worked for a bit, until work expectations rose to the level of a 20-hour workweek despite my abbreviated schedule.

When I became pregnant with #3, another ruthless set of corporate reorganizations was sweeping through the cubicle farm and I was one of the casualties. It was a hard hit, at first, and I made the long drive home in a fit over how I could figure out another work path. I had always wanted to be a stay-at-home mom, but I was so accustomed to working and living the chaotic balancing act, that I didn’t know another way.

Then, while sitting at a red light positioned at a dead-end, my inner voice said, “This is what you’ve always wanted. Why are you fighting it?” A calm swept over me. I smiled. And with that, the light turned green and I turned left toward home.

What is Sleep?

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Pregnancy-related insomnia is common. Between hormones and a squished bladder, you’re awake frequently at night. It’s nature’s way of preparing us for the sleeplessness ahead.

The sleep deprivation from your firstborn is the hardest. You’re delirious, confused, so exhausted it hurts. As time goes by, you somehow adjust to the reduced and broken sleep pattern. It becomes your new norm.

With subsequent children, the newborn phase isn’t painless, and certainly isn’t flush with sleep, but you’re better able to cope. You’ve learned tricks to help you and baby sleep at bit more, your nerves are calmer, you’re so tired from chasing an older child and nurturing an infant during the day that there’s no room for mind-spinning wakefulness at night. You savor the sleep you get; you know this pain is momentary in life.

Sleep deprivation isn’t easy, it isn’t fun, but it’s temporary. Your baby needs you. You’re all he or she has in this world. In a few short years, you’ll sleep again. Then you’ll miss the nighttime neediness… because mom guilt and parenthood is twisted like that.

 

“That” Mom

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I was just “that” mom. I am accustomed to the looks of bewilderment and shock I get when I walk in public with #1 (4.5yrs) and #2 (nearly 3yrs) holding my hands as #3 (9mnth) is strapped to my chest. Today, though, I didn’t even bother noting the surrounding glances, gawks, and glares as we painfully selected balloons for #2’s upcoming family birthday gathering.

Three “Bubble Guppies” balloons… the errand should’ve been uneventful and swift. Hahaha!

#1 had to touch every single pink ballon in sight, got a nasty case of the “I wants,” and then came the back-talk. Mean mommy verdict: “No treats tonight!” Cue the 4.5yo elbow to my thigh which she regretted about 3/4 of the way through the swing. Mean mommy point and glare.

We head to the register… My Little Pony toys, Frozen t-shirts, candy… the party store gods loathe me. I decide to ignore the rapid-fire “I wants” for sanity’s sake.

We make it to the register — I’m still ignoring — then, as I swipe my credit card, #2 decides he wants a Rapunzel party. He selected the “Bubble Guppies” theme a month ago. We have the plates. We have the cups  He came with me to order the dairy-free ocean-themed cake. We just got our three freakin’ “Bubble Guppies” balloons. Get me out of here! Sorry, bud, you’re getting “Bubble Guppies.” #2 flails. Meltdown. On the ground. Complete loss of leg control. So I drag him toward the door in the manner least likely to cue a CPS call. Now, he’s demanding his birthday is today: “My burpday is April 7th!” “Yes, but today is April 1st and your family party isn’t until the 3rd.” “Noooooooo!!!!!” I contemplated the carry-of-shame but figured he might kick #3 who was strapped to my chest. So I tried reasoning with him. It worked enough to get to the car before he melted, body half in and half out of the minivan. #1 stepped over him muttering about My Little Ponies as I slid #2 on his belly inside the van.

Buy birthday ballons: check.

Life with #2

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“MY STUCK!!” It’s an announcement we hear almost daily in our house. #2 is like a beagle: cuddly, goofy, loyal, curious, and calamity-prone. He gets his elbow stuck in kitchen chair backs, his head stuck under sofas and in buckets (in public… numerous times), his hand stuck in princess teapots, his elbow stuck in ball maze toys, his bum stuck under armoires… he even got his head stuck in between a pew and a column at my mom’s church.

The other day I heard the familiar call from his room. He’d managed to buckle himself into a rocking toy but couldn’t unbuckle himself.

As I freed my bumbling minion, part of me thought: one day I’ll miss freeing him from these mishaps. Then I realized, no… this is life with #2. His body will get bigger, the places he gets stuck will get more impressive, and I will need a bigger tub of Vaseline.

Live to Learn

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Three kids and numerous gray hairs ago, I was a new mom. I was emotionally and physically pained from a traumatic delivery, terrified of falling asleep with my tiny infant, emotionally incapable of putting her down for more than a moment without feeling tidal waves of mom guilt, I was petrified of returning to work, but — mostly — I was exhausted. I was the kind of tired that makes jetlag seem like a yawn. I couldn’t function. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t sleep.

I remember the pediatrician telling my husband and I that within a month, our tiny daughter should begin sleeping better. That timeframe sounded like a death sentence. How could someone live on so little sleep?

Little did I realize that I was my own worst enemy. I had read articles and watched news clips warning against cosleeping. I was convinced that keeping myself awake during my every-90-minute nighttime nursing sessions would keep my daughter safe. I didn’t process, amidst the mom guilt and first-time-mom anxiety, that there were alternatives. My mother, my friends… they all gave me advice but I silenced it all with my self-inflicted guilt and fear.

Then, I began sleepwalking, having “baby in peril” dreams so vivid that one night I awoke to find myself tearing a hole in my foam pillow because I “had to rescue my baby from inside the pillow.” Was this really safer than cosleeping? Was this really healthy?

It wasn’t until my second child — 20.5 months later — that I realized how harmful I’d been to myself. I learned to cosleep just to feed then pop baby back into his own sidecar bed. I learned that I could put baby down to prepare meals, I learned germs aren’t the scariest things, and that a healthy baby can handle a stuffy nose and a sticky todder hug. I learned to calm down, to lower my impossible standards. I learned that baby needs me to be healthy and happy so I could be a good caretaker. However, I had to learn this on my own. I had to learn it through living it.

As much as I’d love to save every new parent from the pains and mistakes I experienced, I know my advice would be shunned. Parenting is a learning curve. It’s messy and beautiful and flawed and humbling. We’re all learning our way through it, navigating the ever-changing terrain.

All I can do is be a listening ear, a source of support, and an honest cohort to my fellow parents. No glazing over the unglamorous with false perfection. No pretending, no romanticizing… just candor. We’re in this together!