To my sweet baby boy,
Tonight you let me rock you to sleep and we shared a
precious moment in time I won’t soon forget. It was a moment that you and I
were gazing into each other’s eyes, your hair still damp from your bath
and your lips tug-tugging at your pacifier. I swear I could see right into your soul. There were lots of squeaky wheels begging for
oil tonight. Squeaky wheels that included toys strewn across your nursery (read
the entire house). A hamper overflowing with stinky clothes. Crusted dishes occupying
our sterile white counter pleading for a good soaking.
Well tonight you trumped
them all after your bath as you brought me your blankie, pointed and said
“ahh-ci” (paci) and excitedly replied “yeah!” when I asked you if you wanted
Mamma to rock you. No, indeed tonight the squeaky wheels didn’t get the oil,
the quiet, snuggly, buttermilk smelling toddler in striped pajamas got it. You
see little one, the messes can always wait. The messes mean we played hard with
all of your toys. The messes also mean we have full tummies and lots of
energy. The messes can always wait and to me are proof that as your Mom I’m a rockstar.
Before you came along Mommy struggled with perfection and image. But because of
you, Mommy has learned to lay those expectations down and focus on what truly
matters, raising you. There will come a time (albeit way too soon) when you are
going to grow up and the snuggly nights of rocking my sweet honey smelling
little boy will be just that, memories.
Yes, they will be grand memories and that’s why I will always take the time to
make those memories. I know it will mean so much more to you to have a Mom who
is really present and there during your life rather than a Mom who is scurrying
around whisper yelling at you to stop making a mess.
Messes are always welcome
here, you are always welcome here.
Like the term bittersweet, sometimes life’s greatest, most
anticipated arrivals come paired with unexpected and unwelcome pain. We all as
humans have struggles as we have to deal with living in a fallen world; I
treaded the deep murky waters of post partum depression desperately begging for
God to throw me a lifeline.
I suppose it’s no mother’s wish to say she spent
her first months with her newborn in agony, but I would be lying if I said
otherwise. I can remember feeling so impatient, angry, and just plain jipped
that I was having to deal with such an ugly struggle. After all I didn’t even
really know what I was so sad about, why when I looked into my newborns eyes I
felt nothing but emptiness. Why I had such a hard time letting my guard down to
let the feelings of love naturally penetrate my heart after losing our first
baby to miscarriage and then walking alongside my brother and sister in law and
holding their precious stillborn son Jude on top of my somersaulting 26 week
pregnant belly wondering why this was all happening. Could this truly be God’s
plan? I was literally rocked to my absolute core.
I specifically remember
putting away my maternity clothes, the clothes I felt the most beautiful in,
downstairs in a closet while my stomach uncontrollably lurched wanting nothing
more than to go back, and don those damn clothes just to be able to feel something, anything for any amount of
time. I traveled down a deep, dark pit occupied with lurking street names that
included, apathy, inability to connect, pain, extreme sadness, guilt, numbness,
and insomnia. It seemed wherever I turned came a new unwanted path that was
so far from what I was expecting. I wanted to run and many times I tried only to find an even worse place. I prayed I would "wake up" to realize it was only a bad dream. It seemed that once I entered that dark pit I was held captive against my own will.
“You turned my
wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy” Psalm
31:11
“He lifted me out of
the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a
firm place to stand. He put a new song in my mouth, a hymn of praise to our
God” Psalm 40: 2-3
It’s said hind
sight is 20/20, well maybe 20/30 but
regardless it’s easier to make sense of things looking back. I did end up
kicking postpartum depression back where it belonged, to the curb after a 3-4
month battle thanks to God, family, friends and progesterone injections . God
never left my side (even though I was convinced otherwise)And maybe, just maybe
because of the deep struggle I faced, I’ve learned to truly bask in the
happiness I now feel because in the beginning of my journey learning to be a
Mamma I certainly felt otherwise.
{A very
welcome side note; by nothing less than divine intervention, I was led to this blog and found
someone who shared my struggles with PPD and truly “got it”. Praise be to God
she just had her second baby and has been spared from experiencing PPD again,
in place of it she’s experiencing joy and loving the newborn stage. Thank-you for giving me hope for the future Kara}