SPOILER ALERT: IT NEVER GETS EASIER

Mom guilt. Everyone talks about it and I knew it’s something I would struggle with. It starts with those first few times you can’t get them to stop crying. I’m sorry, I’m trying to make it better, please, I’m so sorry. Five minutes into an outing and my mind has already wandered back home. I wonder what she’s doing? I hope she naps okay. Did I kiss her before I left?

I think I notoriously linger a little longer in certain phases because I never want to be the reason our little routines end. Sometimes I think back to that one bedtime routine we had; we did it every night for so long and it felt like we were going to do it forever. I would nurse Lou, Chris would bath her, I’d get her in her pyjamas, and Chris would top her up with a bottle. He’d rock her while I sat on the floor of the nursery, reading her bedtime stories that she was far too young to understand. Guess How Much I Love You was our favourite, and I would recite it from memory. Then Chris would hand me our sleepy baby, I’d swaddle her, sing to her in the dark, and lay her down. And then one day, for some reason pertaining to time and the fact that it wouldn’t slow down, she outgrew that routine and we adapted. I still miss those nights sometimes, and already feel a sense of guilt that we won’t be able to give the same attention to our second baby. It’s already started. 

One day while talking with my sister, we started the morning with a phone call where she was telling me how proud she was of her baby for successfully napping in her crib for the first time. A few hours later she called me driving home from the grocery store, her daughter wailing in her car seat in the background of the call. She went into a rant about how she’d taken too long at the store and was late to nurse her and (her words) felt like a failure. Motherhood is a ride… when everything is going right you’re so proud of them and whenever the smallest thing goes wrong you so quickly turn on yourself. I’d love to offer up some insightful words, but I’m constantly guilty of the same thing.

A few weeks ago at the park, Lou hit her lip and her teeth cut the skin inside her mouth. She cried and bled, and I proceeded yell “Fuck! Oh no!” and immediately started sobbing and telling her “I’m so sorry, it’s okay, I’m so sorry!” It ate me up for days. It also confirmed what I already knew; I’d be an awful nurse. 

I think it comes from trying so hard to be everything for your baby, and when things don’t go well you assume it’s something you’ve done. In the hospital, they make you watch this video called Purple Crying about why you should never shake your baby, and it seems ridiculous at the time. But I remember being so overwhelmed with the feeling of failure one night because I couldn’t get my new baby to settle that I blurted out “This is why mothers kill themselves”. Chris looked at me with a look of appalling concern and just said “Well whatever you do, don’t shake her!” Literally nothing could make me ever shake my baby, but in that moment I sure had a strong desire to slam my own head against the wall.

A new baby has upped the ante, mucho mom guilt, because so many things have to change. Lou’s crib, her change table, her room… are all quickly becoming the property of someone else. I’m terrified of not being all hers, and having to share myself. I spent weeks in her new room, painting and repainting it the perfect shade of pink, and shopping for the prettiest throw pillows. All in a partial effort to comfort myself with the impending transition.

She’s been on a nap strike recently (that I could give you a list of reasons for why I blame myself) and today she didn’t nap, which made for a particularly emotional, defiant toddler. By bed time I was exhausted and frustrated… and then I yelled at her. Enough! No more! Immediately after I broke down crying, not because my child can never be yelled at, but because the real reason was my own. We were moving her to her new room and all the emotions and fears and guilt I had about it was masked by my third trimester exhaustion. Like that night Wendy Darling learned it was her last night in the nursery, and ended up coping by flying off to Neverland so she’d never have to grow up. I told her I was sorry, and owned my feelings. It’s Mommy’s fault honey, I’m just so sad you’re growing up so fast. I shouldn’t yell, I’m sorry. She reached her hand up and pet my cheek, something she does whenever anyone is sad, and said “It’s okay Mama”. I could barely make it through story time with all my tears.

I think it’s important to do that, own your feelings in front of them. We are only human, and they’ll grow up knowing that all of the different emotions are okay and a part of life. It’s just that you love them such an overwhelming amount that you always want to do right by them. And no one is perfect, so you never will be. They’ll get boo-boos on your watch, they’ll miss their nap, you’ll get frustrated and feel bad for being human. How dare we. 

I’m no real help, I imagine this will never go away. The best advice I can give is to prepare yourself that it never gets any easier; that love you have for them pressuring you to always do your best. But every so often, find comfort in knowing that the fact that you want to do the best for them sometimes is enough. You’re trying, you’re doing the best you can, you’re human, and you want the best for them. That’s the part of your love they feel the most. It’s why they run to you when they have a boo-boo, why they cry to you when they’re overtired. You’re not perfect, but that love you have for them that often overwhelms you, is their safe place.