When Connor was born I, like every other new mom, did Mom 101 – figuring out all the newborn stuff that no one can really teach you. You just have to do it and learn as you go.
When postpartum depression struck I had some sick days and missed some classes. The ones where you learn how to deal with the difficult stuff. I didn’t master diversions, deep breathing, taking time for yourself or how to play with your child and actually be engaged in it. Since I’m feeling a little better I’m doing Remedial Mom 101 and taking those classes now.
I’m doing pretty well. In fact, I’m top of my class (of one).
After almost two months of complete and utter misery I finally, in the last few weeks, feel like I know what being a mom is supposed to feel like.
My gold stars in the hard courses are racking up as I manage to cope with stuff that’s normally a huge trigger for me. Case in point: yesterday I planned activities for us while my husband was at a meeting. We’d visit the nature sanctuary followed by the library, then make a stop on the way home for groceries.
It didn’t go well.
He fell and skinned his knee right as we entered the path towards the lake, and it was apparently just the wrong thing for a kid who, for some reason, was tired and not coping very well. He put on a sad face and wanted to be carried, then turned on the toddler-terror button and ran stomping down a bridge covered in dragonflies as I was trying to take a picture.
Then he peed himself.
That doesn’t happen often – ever, really (knock wood) – but we just dealt with it. After getting clean clothes from the car I told him we were going to head to the library. Apparently this was the worst suggestion ever.
The kid who had just said he wanted to go to the library had decided he needed to go back down the trail. Except he’d peed in his boots, and we had no other shoes. So off we went – I stopped at home to get him some shoes and he cried about the unacceptable change in plans.
When we got to the library, he was fine. At first anyway. We chose some books to check out. And then he had a meltdown. In a quiet library. Over something that I don’t really understand. But I got an A+ for diversions by getting him to help me use the self-checkout, though our success was temporary. The meltdown continued when I tried to ask the librarian a question and it ended up in one of those situations where I was carrying a bag, a stack of books and a 40 pound toddler out the door as fast as I could.
And then – oh yes, I did it – I braved the grocery store. I knew he was tired. But we needed something for lunch and, frankly, I didn’t want to have to go out again.
It was mostly okay, if you discount the constant whining as we went through the store. His attempt at throwing a carton of blueberries was prevented by my lightning-fast reflexes and I managed to sigh instead of wanting to smack something.
Good thing our list was small.
We checked out, I got him in the car and, boom, he was asleep.
I knew it. Had called it. Had texted my husband: “This is going to be a nap day.” I got home and handed him off. It had been a rough morning but I considered it a success.
That doesn’t mean I’ve graduated – it’s still early in the semester – but this is a huge sign that I’m feeling better.
I never had to take remedial anything, but this is one class I’m not ashamed of taking and am determined to pass. I think a SuperMom t-shirt is in my future.
