One that includes sleep…
It’s 6:16 am and I’m in my office. Quietly sipping (hot) coffee while watching the baby monitor. I last tiptoed out of his room at 11pm. Careful to turn the doorknob very slowly to avoid the little—click—all moms know all too well.
When we were deep in the not-sleeping, musical beds, up every 45 minutes phase of new parenthood, I never thought I’d be here. Sleep deprivation is wild and when you have a baby that just wants to be close, the dream of ever sleeping in your own bed again starts to feel as far off as being NOT pregnant does when you’re entering your 10th month of pregnancy.
But the little dude is sound asleep and I’m getting the quiet time that I’ve been craving. I so badly wanted to document the last year in a channel like this and while I didn’t get to exactly, I did manage to capture some thoughts in my journal.
The early days were sporadic, but my practice did get more consistent and I’m excited to flip back through the pages to reread those stories. I’ll share the best ones here. Because really all I want to do is find a way to relate—the most shocking part of all this is how hard it is now to relate to people.
And by “all this” I mean entering mamahood, but also healing myself from the past traumas that have haunted my daily actions for years.
He’s starting to stir so I may have to stop and go to him.
You might know the traumas that I’m talking about. The bad habits that push people away from who you love most. The conditioning that tricks you into believing that you’re not good enough unless you do more. The false narratives that you need to be successful in order to be lovable. It’s a wild west out there in the postpartum mind, and the raging hormones just amplify the hurt that came before this point. But then you have this 7lb bundle of blankets—an entire human that you birthed from your own body—and your perspective changes forever in the weeks and days and hours and minutes that you spend nap-trapped, snuggled up on the couch.
I remember running around to gather all my supplies around 5:45 pm every day in the beginning because the cluster feeding hour(s) was (were) about to start. All he wanted to do was nurse, so I’d get the snacks and water and miscellaneous items I needed to be stuck on the couch until about 10pm. He’d fall in and out of sleep. Swapping between my left and right crooks of my elbows until finally settling into a deeper sleep when we’d all transition to bed—him within arms reach in his bassinet next to me.
There’s so many special moments that come with being a mama and one of my favourites is waking up in the morning with the sun peeking through the curtains and him cooing and kicking his feet around next to me. I’d reach an arm over so he could see my fingers dance in the light above him, but not my face yet. He’d kick and grab at them like it was the most fun game, grinning when I’d eventually peek over the side of the bassinet.
I wonder at least once a day: How did I end up here?
Who let this happen?
I want to thank whoever’s in charge.
Back to (one of) the point(s) that I’m trying to make: Self-awareness is a hell of a drug. And once you are aware/awake/however you want to say it, it’s really hard to unsee. Everyone has quirks and traits and habits and ticks that guide their day to day actions and the craziest thing is that we don’t even know it most of the time. But seeing it? That’s step 1 in changing.
And I’m all for change.
The baby is waking up for real now… Until next time. 🤍
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