Forgive the stream of consciousness writing...I'm just refamiliarizing myself with the voice in my head. It's just not used to being able to finish a thought or even half of one.
I've learned part of why "grown ups" are a little bit crazy. It's from us. The kids they raised who provided a constant barrage of questions and requests for, I don't know, 10-18 years straight. It wears on a person's brain.
I know it'll get easier when little one is older and can sit by herself without getting soul-suckingly lonely after 30 seconds.
When Ivy was a baby people told me to soak it up; these are the best times of your life. Enjoy them while you can, it flies by, etc. My internal response at the time was: "Really? Good, I'm kind of done with this baby business. In fact, I'd call this one of the low points of my life." Because nothing can prepare you for a colicky baby. Nothing. And I can look back, now that I've had a regular baby, and just feel sorry for myself back then. I had no compass, nothing to judge how bad it was by. I felt like the biggest failure of a mother because I just couldn't comfort my baby. And there is never a shortage of seasoned mothers who will tell you exactly what worked for their kid and so it will *of course* work for your kid too.
But I wasn't a failure of a mother. In fact, I look back and think what an amazing job I did considering the circumstances. Because there were a lot of other not insignificant issues I was facing at the same time.
It is so freeing to just let the crap blow off my back now. When people want to say or imply that I'm making some mistake or another, I just ignore them. Or at least 90% of me does. Because the first time around I tried to listen to what everyone was saying. Try this. Try that. And it just made me frustrated when it didn't work and I felt judged that people thought I just wasn't doing it "right". Now I have the perspective. Now I have a beautiful, smart, empathetic, kind, silly, brave, wondrous 4 year old to show for all those tear-filled nights. All those desperate prayers. All those feelings of inadequacy. I must have done something right is all I'm saying. I think she just didn't like being a baby. And who can blame her really. Being a four year old is much cooler.
There you go. I get a few minutes to myself and what do I do? Talk about my kids. #mom
