A Hard Rain's A-Gonna Fall

This is hard. Really hard.

I have never been one to romanticize 

anything and I certainly didn't romanticize

motherhood while I was pregnant: I knew it 

would be tough and that it would have its ups

and downs.  I just never realized that the downs

would be so down and that the ups would be

few and far between at this stage.

I wish I could say that I feel this way because

I'm sleep deprived but that's not it.  I'm not

sleeping like I did before I had the babe, 

that's for sure, but I'm getting enough sleep 

to function at a fairly normal level.  I 

don't feel physically tired but I must admit 

that I am emotionally drained.

I adore my little tootsie and love her with

all of my heart however every time she

fusses or cries for a not obvious reason, 

a little part of my heart breaks and along 

with it, part of my psyche crumbles.

Babies are so unpredictable and try as

we might to anticipate her needs and keep

her well fed, dry, and secure, our patterns

are not secure and she can throw us for

a loop at will.  Logically, I recognize this

is the way it is and I accept it

but in actuality, I find it unbearable.

Only a few of my friends have ever expressed

my reality of parenting a newborn and so

it's to those friends whom I look for advice and 

comfort, because we seem to be the extreme

minority compared to other mothers who 

proclaim this stage as a magical one in which

the babes do nothing but eat and sleep as

their mommas gaze at them from behind

loving, tender shaded lenses.

My reality is that each night, I cry and

feel pretty worthless.  I worry that I'm going

to turn my husband against me and in turn,

against the baby that rules my life. I live in fear 

that the dreaded C word will rear its unforgiving,

relentless self and take possession of my child.

I agonize over each change in body process,

over each red mark that appears on her 

unblemished, delicate skin.  Is she 

tolerating her formula? Does she have gas?

Is that a rash? Why did she spit up a fraction

of her dinner?  Wait, did she spit up or was that 

just drool? Why is she crying a half an hour 

after her bottle when for the past two weeks,

she's taken it and then fallen into a deep slumber?

Is that a rash or just pimples from resting the

side of her face on the mattress?  

But dammit, it's an organic mattress! 

Many friends have reached out to me in

support and I've used each and every one of 

them as a crutch to get me through this stage; 

without them, I would probably be curled in a corner.

I text messaged my high school bff 22 times

yesterday and at least that many times the day 

before, and the day before that, asking one question 

after another.  I spend hours on the phone each

day with my partner in crime down in Philly

(who has a son a few months older than E);

I grill her on everything baby and ask the

same questions day after day as she patiently

assures me that this too, shall pass.

I confess all of my most horrible thoughts

and feelings to my soulmate Strachan, 

knowing that she won't judge me but will

set me straight when my words turn to melodrama.

I write endless emails to people, pouring out

 my soul and exposing all of my weaknesses

to the point that some of them have

taken to ignoring every third one... 

Last night after I was up consoling E for

an hour or so, I crawled back into bed wide awake

and reached for my iPhone instead of the video monitor

(which yes, I broke down and walked to Target at 8:30 

the other evening in the snow storm to purchase) and

scrolled through some tweets.  As always, there was a 

link to a blog that I religiously read so I opened it, 

only to have my heart sink at its subject matter.

For the next 30 minutes or so, I laid there 

paralyzed: is it possible?  Is there even a remote 

chance that I could end up regretting 

having a child? Because at 3:30 am when

little E won't stop fussing and I'm feeling 

helpless and weepy, and am sick with worry that I'm 

 causing her harm, I wonder if parenting will 

ever improve or if my attempts will always be

ineffective. Because if my best, most selfless

efforts fail to keep this child safe, happy, and healthy,

then I will feel much regret for giving her a life 

that does not live up to the one that I want for her.

But as I mentioned earlier, my logical self

knows that this time will pass.  My hormones

will, eventually, even out and each day, the

sun will shine a few moments longer. I know

that in the future, our love for little E will 

serve her during her darker moments, 

the ones when the hard rain is a-falling.

And for now, I must allow it to serve me as well,

 because I am so in love with my little girl.