on becoming your mom

Hey Izz,

I've always been pretty open with friends and family about my "bad" mothering. It goes in line with my regular formula of self-deprecation, humor and honesty, but I do feel the need to elaborate a little to you in the event things get nuts as you grow older and I suddenly lose my fantastic ability to communicate. So here I go, for the record:

I wanted you from the moment of conception. In fact, I wanted you long before that. I grew up wanting to be a mother. I never had many dreams of careers, success or money - but I did always dream about being a mom. From the moment your father and I met I was clear that I wanted kids. In fact, I wanted them right away. He wasn't ready and it took him about 7 years to get there. But eventually he got on board and we decided to try for you. As I would later learn about you - you took awhile. In fact, after several months of trying to conceive I gave up on the idea and decided to go to Europe. The following month I found out I was pregnant with you.

To say I was overjoyed doesn't begin to describe it. I was excited, nervous and scared - but most of all excited. Finally you were coming. We had a few scares along the way, but after 9 months of anticipation you were finally born. And then the dream became a reality. Once you were born I had no idea what to do with you. I was terrified and awkward. I'd always wondered what kind of father your dad would be - but suddenly he was the natural and I was... not.

The first night in the hospital it was just me and you. You cried most of the night, I cried, I wondered if I could give you back, I realized I had made a terrible mistake and I was going to be a terrible mother. Those feelings continued for the next 9 months. I later realized much of that was post-partum depression. Also, like any dream becoming a reality, it wasn't quite as blissful as I pictured. After about 9 months I started to be able to breathe. The anxiety started to abate and I started to get the hang of mothering. Yet still I felt disconnected from you and it scared me beyond explanation. I absolutely loved you, with that there was no doubt, but I didn't feel the connection I had always heard about. As I tell it to my friends, the skies didn't open and the angels didn't sing.

As you started to grow and your personality started to shine I felt more and more connected. The day you took your first steps (Super Tuesday!) was one of the happiest moments of our lives. The day you first ate spaghetti and smeared it all over your face while laughing was wonderful. And day by day I felt closer to you and more in love. One day, when you were about 15 months old we laid down together for a nap (as we usually did as it would ensure you would actually fall asleep). I remember you turning to me and smiling, and at that moment I felt the love, connection and adoration I had been expecting. At that moment the skies opened and the angels sang. My heart was filled with more love than I had ever experienced.

But as always happens, reality once again returned. There have been moments in motherhood that I should be embarrassed to admit (if I were ever embarrassed by things). There have been moments when I have yelled at you much louder and meaner than is right by a mother. There have been moments when I have grabbed you by the arm and later prayed there were no bruises. There have been moments when I have lost my temper to a point that I swore as a small child I NEVER would. There have been moments when I have had to walk away to prevent myself from hurting you. And every single one of those moments terrified me and broke my heart because it is not the kind of mother I want to be to you. I want to be the absolute best of my ability because you deserve absolutely nothing less.

But it takes work. It takes going to bed and swearing that I will be better. It takes praying to God that I become calmer, more patient, more understanding and more gentle. It takes waking up in the morning and being determined to smile at 7am and chat as much as you like. And slowly, I have improved as a mother. Nothing brings me more enjoyment than lying in bed with you before naptime/bedtime and softly chatting with you. My heart sings when you come sit in my lap and ask question after question trying to figure out a concept. I swell with pride when you learn a new task or show off one of your many charming skills. I am not, nor will I ever be, perfect. But I need you to know that I will always try to be better. I will always work to be the best mother in the world to you. I will always be open to your criticisms and try to adjust to your needs. And while it took a while to come - I love you (and will ALWAYS love you) more than anything or anyone else in this world.

on the first year of motherhood

Dear Izzy,

I recently wrote this response to a new mother in my Austin Mama group who was having a difficult time with her 3 month old son. I was met with tons of responses from mothers thanking me for posting, as they felt I articulated spot-on what that first year of motherhood is like. In the God-awful event that I'm not around when and if you give me my first grandchild, I wanted to share this with you.

"I just want to reiterate what the other Mama's have said. In fact, I think I wrote a similar message to this group about 2 years ago. And funny enough, I was having this exact conversation with 2 expectant mothers at a party this weekend. My best friend came up to me and said "Did you seriously have to make the first year sound that bad? You probably scared them to death. I know I'm definitely re-thinking this motherhood thing."

But honestly, that first year sucks. And few moms are honest about it. When I gave birth I expected the heavens to open, the angels to sing and to immediately feel the strongest bond I'd ever felt in my entire life. My husband and I WANTED this baby like nothing we'd wanted before. Instead I was exhausted and slowly gaining speed towards resentful. I was shocked at my depression and my anger towards "the baby". There were times my husband took my daughter away
because he was scared I was one more cry away from hurting her. I couldn't imagine it being PPD, because I had wanted her (skewed thinking obviously, but it made sense at the time), and like you, I was loathe to take drugs. This went on for months (I'm guessing about 6-9 months) before I just bottomed out. My cup was empty and no amount of rest, breaks or quiet dinners would fill the cup back up. I went to the doctor and was prescribed Welbutrin and by that time I willingly took it. Within 2 weeks I felt better - like I could breathe again. I took it for about 3 months and weaned myself off over 2 weeks (I don't suggest this, as doctors frown upon it - but it worked for me). I feel like in that time I learned to get ahold of things. It was like the fog lifted. Sure, the stress was still there. Yes I was disappointed that I had stopped breastfeeding (the goal was a year), I had stopped cloth diapering (I wanted to save the Earth) and was putting my daughter in front of Classical Baby for sometimes up to an hour (TV would stunt her brain!) But like the other Mama's say - there comes a point when your reality crashes with your ideals. And something's gotta give.

As I told a pregnant friend of mine this weekend, lower your bar. Have an ideal, have an "absolutely NOT", and then work your way into the grays of motherhood. Do the best you can, but don't expect too much of yourself. There are days when you can make up for the bad days - and as long as you put in the effort, you are doing better than so many moms out there.

Also, take heart. It gets better. I look at my 3 1/2 year old daughter now and wonder how I ever could have questioned my love for her (though, I remember enough to understand how...) I feel like around the time she turned 15 months or so things got SO much better. She started to show her personality that was impossible not to fall in love with, we were doing more bonding and in general she was less work (ie: she was sleeping through the night, feeding herself and easier to entertain).

Also, and please understand I am not at all criticizing, judging or anything of the like, I'm just trying to share an outside perspective - your son's father is his father. He may not be the kind of father you envisioned, but he's his father all the same. I know it took my husband some time to get adjusted to fatherhood (again, around 15 months or so), and even still he doesn't do things the way I'd like. I have to remind him to play with our daughter. I suggest he take her to the store with him. I'm constantly reminding him to be something besides just the disciplinarian. To be sweet and soft. It should be noted at this point that my husband is in a metal band - sweet and soft just doesn't come natural. In my mind I pictured Bill Cosby - in reality I got the metal version of (I hope) Reverend Run.

My point is, surely he has something to offer - and on the upside, it sounds like it will be much different than what you have to offer. So to take a cup-half-full outlook, maybe your child will turn out to be an intellectual kid that has street smarts and a sassy tongue. It'll make him more well-rounded in his later years. But (and maybe this is where my point becomes controversial), I feel like it's our job as mothers to inspire fathers to be more than they think they can be. Especially in this generation where fatherhood has definitely been revamped. Instead of seeing what you don't want, see what he can offer (everyone has something to offer). Gently nudge him in a direction where he can be involved. It's hard with babies - I feel like a lot of men just don't know what to do with them, but as he gets older, help the father see where he can make a difference. Remind him what a positive role model is - by asking what kind of father he wanted for himself. Remind him that he now has an opportunity to be the kind of father he wanted (because didn't we all want awesome fathers?) This is just a suggestion and something that has inspired my own husband to be a more mindful father. Take it for what it's worth, or throw it out the window, as I definitely realize that one size does NOT fit all. =)

Either way, know you aren't alone. Even those of us that desperately wanted children wake up feeling like we could walk out the door and never look back. We look at our embarrassingly messy houses, the kids eating Cheez-Its while watching Sponge Bob and wonder how we got so off track. But then there's the days where your kid discovers a love for broccoli, paints a beautiful picture and says "When I grow up, I'm going to become President and make a law that everyone has to smile and say 'thank you'" - and you feel like you just might be hanging in there as an okay Mom..."