In hindsight

I wish I could go back to that new mother over a year ago and give her a glimpse of what is to come. I wish I could wipe away her tears. Not the tears of overwhelmed love, those were full and beautiful and worthy. But the tears of bewilderment. The tears because she couldn't see past this precious needy creature she had just brought forth in the world. Because she couldn't see that one day this mewling milk vomiting helpless little being who demanded so much of her would turn into a ray of light on toddling feet. That one day this being would wrap her arms around my neck every day and hug me. Hard. That one day she would wake up every morning and say Hi! That one day she would trust herself enough to let go of my hands and take her first steps. That so much sooner than I could have imagined she would love me back. Almost almost as much as I love her.

You take the good, you take the bad, you take them both...

I debated about whether to post my previous entry. It was actually written over a week ago, when emotions were obviously raw, and I haven't felt any where near as fragile since that day. But I decided to post it because it felt like I was withholding the truth. While all my loved up posts about how head over heels I am for Eloise are entirely true, I do not feel that way ALL the time.

Taking care of an infant is hard - not that I nor anyone else didn't already know that. Reading other people's blogs about the sour milk side of baby rearing has helped me, reminded me that when my child hasn't stopped feeding for the past 3 hours and 49 minutes and my nipples are aching and there's a part of me that wants to put her in her crib and walk out the front door without saying a word that I am not alone. And so I wanted to be honest. And be sure to share the bad along with the good. Because maybe a new mother will come across this site and she'll be near breaking point, exhausted and drained, emotionally and physically, and I want her to know that it's ok to feel that way.

I've obviously caused some concern in family, friends, and complete strangers, so I do want to say that I am fine. The good so exceedingly weighs out the bad that I have no doubt in my mind that Eloise and I will come out of this infancy stage all the stronger. We might have bags under our eyes and smell of poop, but our smiles will be genuine, of that I can be sure.

It's not all rainbows and unicorns

It should have been a good day. Logically it was a good day. Eloise slept for 7 and a half hours straight the night before. From 10pm to 5:30. In her crib. At three weeks old! She woke up and fed, then slept with me in our bed for another hour and a half. Great start to the day.

I then bathed her, by myself for the first time and did not drown her or scald her. She loved being in the water.

And while I didn't get to take a shower myself and I have never eaten a bowl of cereal so fast in my life, we did both manage to get out of the house before 10am. One of our elderly neighbors was passing our house just as Eloise and I were exiting and she ooed and ahhed over how cute she is and then Eloise and I walked her to her bus stop as she held onto the pushchair for support.

We went to the Health Visitor where Eloise was weighed and is gaining nicely (4kg last week, now 4.180kg) and the Health Visitor said she was looking very healthy and very alert for her age.

We got the letter from the doctor's saying all of Eloise's blood tests have come back normal. I managed to even do a load of laundry and hang it up to dry, which is impressive considering the day before I couldn't figure out how to open the washing machine door.

What is even more impressive with all that we accomplished is that I also managed to get in over 2 hours of crying as well. Me. Not Eloise. Though she joined in at times.

Crying because Eloise had thrown-up on me for the 10th time in under 2 hours. Crying because Eloise did not take a nap until 5pm. Crying because I worry that I'm not doing enough for my daughter. Crying at the weight of everything I should be doing and just can't manage. The house is a mess. I see a pile of dust in a corner of a room and I cry while Eloise breastfeeds. I look down at the giant size of my belly and I cry for all the exercise I don't have time for. I cry because I haven't been able to take the photos I need for the birth announcement. I cry because the Health Visitor looked so worried when I told her I had no family in this country. I cry because my only companion during the day for the next 8 months can't even look at me when I say her name. And then at night, when 3 hours after putting her to bed she is finally asleep, I cry, because I am so worried tomorrow will be the same, or worse. And I realize I am dreading the next day with my child. And I cry even harder at the shame of feeling this way.

So, as I said, logically this should have been a very good day. Emotionally? Still working on that.