I’m sitting in the rocking chair where I’ve been imprisoned for over 2 hours with a sleeping baby in my arms. He’s moved around from boob to semi-sitting asleep next to me to sprawled across my lap. He is such a squirmy sleeper. Three-ish feet away sits a beautiful crib laughing at me. With its… Continue reading Oh, Nine Months
But I kept this child fed, alive, and on the mend. I washed the poop covered clothes. I got Mother’s Day cards and gifts for our moms and grandmoms. I healed his diaper rash. I worked on hiring a new staff member. I led a key company roll-out of a new initiative. All the while, super mom, I didn’t take care of myself.
It’s been almost 2 months since I’ve been on thyroid medication. Baby J is almost 8 months old. My body has finally stopped hurting from pregnancy and has now started hurting for unknown reasons (oh the joint pain). Life is flying by and I can’t keep up. I am doing better. I am not 100%.… Continue reading Absentee
Today, I can’t even process. I am existing- breathing- but nothing more. I haven’t gotten dressed. I don’t remember the last time I peed without a baby staring at me. Dinner looks bleak. I feel burdened, drained, empty, chaos, dread, pain. Maybe he’s getting more teeth. Maybe we just had a rough night. Maybe it’s just been a day and the clock will be reset.
I am pretty sure my baby fever is worse now than before I had this kid. I don’t know why because motherhood has not been easy. But surely, the next baby won’t be as hard as this one? And maybe a sibling would make this one easier?
His little screams hit my heart like daggers. It’s been 5 minutes, maybe. But the tears stream down my face. The anxiety is bad lately- third night in a row where I have felt the throat-closing panic of anxiety around my heart. It moves up my spine to my shoulders and down my arms. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. I can’t relax. I can’t do anything.
“You need to come home” texts to your husband. Bawling your eyes out while the baby screams in his crib. Wondering if **insert time** is too early for a glass of wine. Angst in the pit of your stomach. Cherishing the moments of silence- when he’s sleeping, when he’s entertained, when he’s away. Guilt at… Continue reading Postpartum is…