Motherhood Archives - Page 24 of 28 -

Strollers in the Street

May 16, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

The initial bend in the S-shaped street was behind us, meaning we were about halfway into our walk, but before we got to the next curve she was there, walking toward us, then paused beside us, rocking her stroller lightly.

She had stopped so I stopped, but she initiated the small talk. The how-old-is-your-baby and do-you-live-near-here questions.

My responses were short but polite. Friendly but not encouraging. Her baby – several months younger than my then 9-month-old – was asleep peacefully in the stroller. Mine was asleep as well, but looking at him gave me no feelings of peace. I knew enough to know that if we were stopped much longer he’d wake up, and that would be bad. I glared at the dog, willing him not to make any noises – the kind guaranteed to wake my child – indicating he wanted to keep walking.

So I kept the conversation light and short, then bade her farewell with a mention that I needed to keep walking so he’d keep sleeping.

What I didn’t tell her was that I needed him to keep sleeping. That we walked every day at this time because he refused to sleep otherwise and I had tried everything and getting him to sleep in his stroller was the only thing that was keeping me remotely sane. That sometimes, if he kept sleeping, I walked for hours, playing chicken with the line where a good nap turns into a nap that messes with bedtime.

I couldn’t tell her all this because at the time I thought I was the only one who panicked like that. Who would do anything to keep that stroller moving so he’d stay asleep and not wake up and start to fuss and flood my being with despair.

It’s been over three years since we met on the road that day. I never saw her again, but the other day I walked down that same stretch of road. I was with dog, but without stroller. Life has changed a lot since then, and yet some of those same feelings still remain in me. I also now know a lot more about how many women experience a rough start to motherhood. As I walked, I wondered if she was one of them.

I mentioned this to my husband, and questioned whether I would have uncovered something – something she needed, some sort of help, companionship, or even just an adult conversation – had my protective shield not been so firmly in place that day.

Maybe she saw something in you, he said. Maybe she sensed that you needed help.

Maybe.

There’s no way to know, so in that moment during my recent walk I just paused and thought of her – a sincere “sorry” if she were someone I could have helped had I known, and a dose of good thoughts for wherever her path along motherhood has taken her since.

Filed Under: Motherhood · Tagged With: anxiety, sleep, we're not alone

Wants vs. Needs

May 10, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

I was late for the appointment because I couldn’t find the right building. Turns out I had driven by hundreds of time before – with a movie rental place and liquor store on the ground level, it just wasn’t the sort of place I expected to find a counsellor’s office.

I went inside, where the interior was equally nondescript. Upstairs, I knocked tentatively on her office door. She invited me to sit while she finished some paperwork, which gave me a chance to look around.

Dowdy is the word that came to mind. I don’t remember anything on the walls, though there must have been something. She seemed the type who might decorate with paintings of kittens. The window looked out over the parking lot, and the busy road beyond hummed with traffic. I’d driven by so many times and yet never knew what went on up here. What heartbreaks and secrets and struggles were poured out on the top floor of this white building with a technical-sounding name that always seemed to me as though it had no personality.

The counsellor fit right in with the unremarkable environment. She appeared to be in her late 50s, with nothing to suggest she might be younger. Small, but not petite. Frumpy clothes. And her name – the “doctor” title and male first name, which I’d never heard for a woman – made her seem more academic than therapist.

As we talked, my impression that we wouldn’t click was reinforced, but she was clearly a very caring person. She didn’t specialize in – nor, apparently, know much about – postpartum depression, and I allowed that to be a disadvantage for her.

We talked about the usual things – taking time for myself, strategies for when I’m struggling, assumptions we’ve made about what our “working mom” and “stay-at-home dad” roles must be. “Trigger” was not a word I knew then, but it wasn’t something I expect she’d have uttered. Her commentary was all stuff I’d heard before, so I mostly dismissed it. Either I wasn’t open to it or it didn’t address my most pressing issue. Absolutely losing my cool when dealing with my child, with no sense in the moment of how to regain it, seemed to be buried unacknowledged under the typical advice about motherhood. But, for me, it was so much more complicated than that.

“He screams for milk,” I’d explained, “and if we give it to him late in the afternoon he won’t eat dinner. It’s become a battle I don’t see an end to, and I’m not coping.”

“I’m not getting enough time to myself,” I’d complained, imagining the desperation physically dripping from my lips. “Sometimes I just need five minutes so I don’t feel like I’m going to lose my mind, but my husband has been home with him all day and I feel like I have to be on when I walk through the door.”

And then, as we neared the end and I prepared for the inevitable awkward wrap-up, she said something.

“Wants and needs are different things.”

He’s two, she noted, so sometimes he just wants milk. But sometimes, especially at hard times of the day, he needs milk.

The same was true for my “needs”. Sometimes I want more time to myself – more time than is realistic for any mother regardless of her situation. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to go home. Sometimes I end up at work late and am secretly glad it will reduce the minutes I have to endure until bedtime.

I’m not always going to get that time. Sometimes I want it, and other things come first. But sometimes I need it. At the time of that session – months ago now – I needed it when I walked through the door at the end of the day. I had a toddler running at me, screaming with excitement, and a dog jumping and barking. Both greetings I appreciate for their non-verbal I-love-and-missed-you message, but absolutely overwhelming.

So I took her observation to heart and allowed myself to need that five minutes. I told my precious son he was not allowed to come upstairs with me while I got changed, and my husband helped distract him if necessary. Sometimes after changing out of work clothes I sat on the bed and took deep breaths. Sometimes it was 10 minutes instead of five, but when I came back downstairs I was ready. Ready to play, ready to tumble, ready to do whatever was required of me when I put that mama hat back on.

Wants vs. needs. I’m learning to understand the difference.

Filed Under: Motherhood, Postpartum depression · Tagged With: perspective

To Celebrate or Not to Celebrate: Reflecting

May 8, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Last week I asked my husband if we could skip Mother’s Day for me this year as I’m not feeling like a very successful mother at the moment. He told me that wasn’t allowed. Another friend pointed out it’s also about them having an opportunity to tell me they love and appreciate me.

Fine.

I understand that, but I still woke up today wishing I could stay in bed. I’m not sure I can read the cards today, but I will want them when this time has passed. So maybe I won’t read them today but I will accept them with love and read them when I’m ready.

I always understood Mother’s Day was hard for some people – those who have lost their mothers, those who have lost children, those for whom, for whatever reason, Mother’s Day is not what greeting card companies would have you believe. I just never expected it to be hard for me this year.

I had lots of things I wanted to say about motherhood today, but this page has remained blank for days. I can’t explain why I want to fast forward through this day – I believe mothers deserve to be celebrated and I know I’m caring for my child in my own way right now, even if it’s not the way I will one day be able to. For many reasons, some of which I don’t understand, the whole day just makes me teary.

So this morning I looked through some of our photos from Connor’s first year, and a few from beyond. These photos say a lot about who my child is, and in them I began to see who I am as his mother in a new way.

Typical photo of a baby right after birth? Yes. Typical Connor? YES. At the time I didn’t know how typical (thank goodness).

We became a family, and in that family my role is mama:

I had no idea how fleeting this would be – both his ability to sleep and this feeling that I was his mother and nothing else in the whole world mattered:

Throughout his babyhood, when he did this…

…I did this, and it felt like the most natural thing in the world:

But as I fell under the shadow of postpartum depression, I experienced some moments that right now live in me only as a tiny light that reflects my son’s amazing spirit; my memory of them is mostly through pictures:

This phase I do remember, and it lights me up. The fun and stimulation of that Jumperoo was a Wonder of the World to him and his unbridled joy was one to me:

I didn’t mourn his first birthday, but rejoiced in how far we’d come:

I did feel a piece of my heart crack when he had his first haircut though:

I have learned that discovering new traditions can be a beautiful thing. (Also, “Do, or do not, there is no try.”)

We’ve had a lot of these moments and sometimes I feel that my experience
as a mother has been defined by them:

But then we make it through another year:

And I remember that this is what matters:

Because regardless of how I feel a lot of the time, this is how he feels:

And that tells me most of what I need to know.

The best conversations with mothers always take place in silence,
when only the heart speaks. — Carrie Latet

Filed Under: Motherhood, Postpartum depression · Tagged With: family, living life, moments

On Motherhood and Losing Yourself

April 27, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Losing a piece of yourself seems to be part of becoming a mother, almost like a rite of passage. The problem is, following a rite of passage people often expect you to be wiser and acknowledge your readiness for your new role. You’re given access to knowledge or tools you didn’t have before.

When you become a mother, all you get is coupons for diapers, a free can of formula (whether you intend to formula feed or not), and unsolicited advice from people who are a generation or two out of touch. You might get a bunch of pamphlets pointing you to local resources and telling you things like how to bond with your baby and when you can expect certain milestones to happen.

What they don’t tell you is that feeling like you have NO IDEA what you’re doing is normal. Or that the sleep deprivation might feel like it’s going to kill you, but it probably won’t and will (eventually) end. Or that if you don’t feel overwhelmed with love for your baby, that’s okay too, and if it lasts for a while and you really feel like you can’t cope you might want to ask for some help.

As a matter of fact, none of the pamphlets I skimmed through or the books I read or the prenatal classes I attended told it like it really is. Which is:

You will lose a part of yourself when you become a mother.

You probably won’t be able to do all the things you’re used to doing, at least not at first, and your husband or partner shouldn’t expect to either.

You will likely be transformed by this experience in ways you could never imagine and no one could ever accurately describe to you.

Some of those changes will be great. Wonderful. Magical, even. Some might make you feel like you’ve figured out the meaning of life, even if it’s 3 a.m.

And some of those changes will be hard. Really hard. It doesn’t matter if you’re a cashier or a cook or a CEO, being a mother will be the hardest job you’ve ever had.

That was certainly the case for me. I knew it would be hard, but I had no idea just how hard it would be. Some of the changes were absolutely not okay with me but it’s difficult, I discovered, to convince a newborn who won’t sleep to see reason.

I realize it’s not this hard for everyone. For me, postpartum depression (unrecognized and undiagnosed for 18 months) made it almost impossibly hard. I absolutely lost myself and have battled for almost three years to find myself again. It turns out the person I was is not coming back, and I’m finally learning to be okay with that. To embrace it, even.

When I started blogging and was trying to choose a name for my blog, I wanted to acknowledge that the crazy, raging, anxiety-ridden person I had become after having a baby was not who I wanted to be. That person was a stranger to me, and to my husband, who took the brunt of a lot of my exhaustion and anger. That stranger was a big part of me for a while, and will always be a part of who I’ve become. But it’s time to say farewell.

As she slowly ceases to be part of who I am, I watch her go. I send her acceptance and gratitude, both for what she’s taught me and for retreating when asked, but I don’t wish to see her again. I’m ready to accept what I’ve lost and embrace what I’ve gained instead.

Farewell, stranger. I wish you well.

Filed Under: Motherhood · Tagged With: expectations, perspective, telling the truth

We Danced

April 23, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

“Will you dance with me, mama?”

So many of his questions are hard and ask more of me than I feel I can give.

“Will you play with me?” breaks my heart when I’m in a low moment and playing takes more mama energy than I have.

“I want to go downstairs,” at 6 a.m. brings out the why-can’t-you and if-only questions that are asked so many times when you have a small child and don’t get to sleep in. And, for me, it feels like the time I’ll be on duty is longer than I’m able to entertain him.

“Can I have milk?” is a ticking bomb when it’s not time for milk and I know the required “no” response will instigate a meltdown. That meltdown (his) will cause a spike in anxiety (mine) and a fight-or-flight response – neither option an appropriate one when dealing with a 2-year-old who simply wants milk.

But when he asks me to dance? This I can do. I turn up my song, which is fast becoming his song.

He’s on his feet as soon as he hears the first notes.

Right right, turn off the lights
We gonna lose our minds tonight
What’s the dealio?

He bounces like he’s on one of those mini trampolines, smile at full wattage.

I love when it’s all too much
5 AM turn the radio up
Where’s the rock and roll?

Not at 5 a.m. but we did turn this up early one morning and danced to it in bed. When I peeked down the hall my husband had the pillow over his head.

Party crasher, panty snatcher
Call me up if you are gangsta’
Don’t be fancy
Just get dancey
Why so serious?

Fancy is not a word my little man worries about. “Just get dancey” is a suggestion he doesn’t have to hear twice.

And then the best part, where he kicks the strut in his stuff up a notch.

So raise your glass if you are wrong
In all the right ways
All my underdogs, we will never be, never be
Anything but loud
And nitty gritty dirty little freaks
Won’t you come on, and come on, and
Raise your glass
Just come on and come and
Raise Your Glass!

I watch him he bounces. As he twirls. At one point he stops and shakes his bum.

Dancing with him I laugh.

He stops for a moment and comes to me, arms in the air. I pick him up and he rests his cheek on mine.

“I love you,” he says.

I say it back as he kisses me on the mouth. The he slithers down and we’re dancing again.

In this moment something in me pauses and I can see so clearly what it’s about. Being a mother is not about worrying whether you’re good enough. It’s not about giving in to the anxiety when it hovers, telling you the hours until bedtime will feel like a nightmare-filled eternity.

It’s about saying yes when your child asks you to dance.

So we dance.

And when the song ends, we do it again. Because when you have an opportunity to dance with your child, you Raise Your Glass to that opportunity and dance.