What does the baby need? Why do I blame myself for not always knowing? Is it because of the exhaustion and anxiety of new motherhood days that takes the lead of sheer uncertainty?
Even though we have our Maya, it’s been 10 years. I Don’t remember. We’re in such awe of what we’ve created so far with Maya, all the real tough years from birth to five years old behind us (as we now wait for the dreaded teen years just 3 short years away), we forget these early days of complete misery. My husband says
” I guess people continue to have babies because they forget this stage?”
Our six week old boy, Evan, hasn’t stopped crying for what feels like weeks. When he’s not crying, he’s trying to latch and nurse…once he latches he won’t let go. If I let go, the shrieking starts all over again.
The “norm” for many is to birth children closer together- two to four year gaps between children. So, do those parents still forget this stage, too?
My Mom had twins. She said when one twin had just stopped a three hour colic episode, the other began one. How did she survive? My best and longest friend has three kids. They were under five years old when she had her third. I recently asked her how she managed when the third was born with already having two toddlers?! Her response
” I don’t know how I’m alive after that.”
Lately, in these new weeks I get caught up in the anxiety (postpartum) of unknown hysterics and endless feedings I automatically put myself down. It’s my lack of milk, or inability to latch him, or I waited too long to feed him by letting him sleep, or I’m not tough enough, or…. I’m spoiling him.
When I succeed to unlatch his suction cup grasp from my breasts, I fail at laying him down in the bassinet unattached from my body. The shrill sounds of his need to still be one with me rattles my being. Yet pee I must. I contemplate leaving him to cry a little while longer to eat, or clean myself up better for the day, but I’m unable to toughen up and I think his cries are equally hard, for us both.
He needs me, and I need…peace. Idling stillness even. I scoop him back up and try to settle not only him again, but my cluttered noisy brain; telling me simultaneously that I’m both wrong and right for picking him up. Evan isn’t easily soothed after crying for moments without me. Even though my scent and heartbeat nestle around him again.
Ten long minutes ( forever in newborn time) of failed soothing techniques, of up and down, to and fro, trying to calm Evan down- I stood back up and turned on Pandora from the Roku. Within moments of Bob Marleys classic and coincidental
“No Women No Cry”
my tense, upright shoulders dropped back down from my ears. I tucked Evan under my neck against my chest a little closer, releasing a breath as his screaming started to lessen…
I slowly swayed side to side, rocking gently to the song instead of desperately frantic as Evans cry turned to a hushed, heavy breathing, a slight snore. I stayed standing, swaying, for a few more songs on the reggae station. A calm I had yet to feel in these first long few weeks.
When I was a small child I grew up in St. Croix. Our days were spent on the beach or boat. Our nights filled with neighborhood parties no matter the day of the week.
St. Croix folk celebrated the end of the day by grilling and swimming, music and drinking. My siblings and I and the neighborhood kids played manhunt for hours and when the loud reggae music faded to almost silence we knew it was time to get home.
Reggae was in the car, in the streets of Christiansted and in our home during our days spent in the Virgin Islands, and so I’m not surprised how quickly it eased me (still), but I am surprised that I briefly forgot…
The drums, the bass, the offbeat rhythm sections of familiar songs drew me in closer to myself and clarity that my movement turned natural, steady, calm…
the pressure to solve, to figure out what mom I am again, the pressure to be without knowing (yet), the pressure to soothe, soothe, soothe… released. And ironically as I soothed, so did he.
In my desperate attempts to google every single action made by my six week old I lost sight of my instincts. I didn’t listen. I reacted. I searched for more to really only help myself feel better. He is only six weeks old. Six little weeks old and I’m pressuring to have more then… that?
If he’s wanting to nurse 24-7, so be it. There’s a reason. It’s not an insufficient me. If he’s not sleeping, there’s a cause (he wants to eat). If he’s sleeping more- he’s not unwell- he’s growing. Let him be. If he only sleeps in your arms, let him and embrace it… literally.
I took the self blame route and self defeat as many new moms/parents do. There’s so much going on at once in the first weeks of a brand new baby. We can get caught up quickly in forgetting what our instincts are trying to tell us.
I’ve discovered the power of beloved reggae with a crying, inconsolable baby…the rock steady back & forth of my body to the tempo has brought us both peace…less searching by mommy, less rooting of baby…
It’s a little bit like magic. We found our go-to. My husband will come home from a 18 hour shift, to an exhausted wife and attached newborn. When he takes Evan from me the unsettled cries begin again, but man do I need sleep even more then my overworked husband. I start pandora and within minutes Evan is lulled to sleep by Steel Pulse, or Black Uhru. We can’t help but to giggle at the magic and drift off to sleep ourselves before the reggae has a shelf life of its own….too.
I’ve been blessed with an unexpected gift to have a chance to parent again. My mom always used to ask
“Now what’s my lesson here?”
We’ll, we’ve all heard someone say that no one tells you how hard the first few months of parenting are. It’s true, they don’t. Everyone asks how are the sleeping? How are they eating, but they won’t ask how you’re managing. We’re pressured to feel like we’re loving every moment and all knowing baby whisperers. But we’re not. Even second timers like me. We are just getting to know one another.
So many people…friends, family, advise you to…
“enjoy this phase because it goes by so quickly.”
And all I can think while we’re fully in it is -how can I enjoy, this?
As a society we have to educate ourselves better during our NON child years- of the real and true nitty griddy of having a child….
The split second moments of thoughts that creep in during sleep deprivation-
when you think you could actually throw the helpless baby in your arms, whaling inconsolably for the last hour; that’s wiggling, squirming, scratching you with their puny razor blades.
-But it’s just some obscene exhaustion reflex- some sort of self defense against some thing that’s causing you complete grief. As quickly as these thoughts enter, they’ll pass even faster. It’s the exhausting new part of self thats learning how to care for another completely unconditionally. Yes, that’s learned for some, too.
It’s not all wedding bell bliss, and then baby in a baby carriage… sugar & spice, slime & snails and puppy dog tails.
It’s tremendous in so many ways. It takes great stamina, strength, patience, and endless compassion for self & baby, mixed with exuberant amounts of love to maintain sanity as a new parent and thereafter. It sure isn’t pretty and it’s beyond hard… Yet we go on creating…
Evan has moments of contentment too as he grows- where he smiles big gummy smiles at me, grabs onto my fingers with his tiny hand, and coos sweet songs at me at the exact time I need it the most. Reminding me of his innocence, as if to say “hey lady with the big boobs- I didn’t decide to be born”.
He lays his little head on my chest and his breath rises & falls in tune with my own, against my beating heart …our souls forever as one.
So yes, we do it again and again.
Find your peace maker. Your arms. A stroller. A car ride. Reggae!
Hold that baby as he cries & cries..turn the reggae up, sway to & fro…and remember what the baby might be going through….
And not what you’re lacking..
Dishes and laundry, dust bunnies and cob webs will always be there…sleep will return…one fine day…
These moments with baby, even in all its insanity…won’t remain …. And one day we’ll want them…sooner than we expect, more so knowing for me, this is the last time that I am able to create a tiny human… born from love…
In the wisdom of those before me (my mom) and perhaps my lesson to finally learn on this crazy turn- my turn of motherhood… DO try and enjoy it ..all of it, for it’s the ugliest, most beautiful times of your life….
Simply tipShe 