"Do you have the help you need at home?" they had asked me.
"Yes," I had assured them. Besides, I had family within a mile of where I lived.
Yet, I hadn't been home for more than an hour before I started to panic. 'Where are all the nurses?' I wondered. I didn't even know how to care for myself after that intense experience called birth, let alone my baby who seemed very keen on breastfeeding way more often than I wanted to.
Everything hurt. Going to the bathroom seemed to take ages. And the fear that I'd never have a longer stretch of sleep than two hours was very real.
Of course I was delighted with my baby. My husband and I watched every single tiny move she'd make- didn't even watch any TV for a month- she was entertainment enough for us. She was absolutely adorable. My phone storage was already full from all of the photos of her. But the joy of new parenthood was tainted by what had just happened in the becoming of a mom. I felt jaded. How could her birth go like that?
Photo by Marcel Fagin on Unsplash
I had planned and prepared. I took a childbirth class, read books, practiced breathing and relaxing exercises with my husband. I had listened to hours of affirmations and knew how I wanted it to go. I had a birth plan and had made several copies for nurses on different shifts. I had a lot of expectations.
But the birth plan was thrown out the window. The things I cared about didn't happen. "It's best for the baby" had trumped everything else.
And now I was home again, feeling broken and sad about how it had gone- even though it felt I had no time to really think about it. Frustrated that breastfeeding was so painful and difficult, lonely as my husband's attention seemed to have shifted exclusively to our newborn, and soon he was back to work at his two jobs. I started to have weird, violent thoughts about hurting the baby that of course I kept to myself. My biggest fear already was the judgment of others that I was unfit to be a mother. I felt like I had everything to prove.
"Do you have the help you need at home?" they had asked me.
I wish I had asked them to define that. What does that even mean, "the help you need"? How would I know? What help does the typical mom need? What help is available? How would I know if I was asking for the "right amount" of help or being too needy?
If I had a time machine, I'd go back to that frazzled-new-mom-version-of-myself and tell her the secret to a more empowered, incredible life. I'd tell her what "the help she needs" is. It's not something she'd have to stress about paying for. It's not someone she'd have to apologize about the state of her home to as they come into her space to help her. It's not something she'd have to bundle up the baby, get the diaper bag packed, and try to squeeze into jeans to go to.
It's something free, simple, and SO powerful.
You're going to think it's lame when I tell you...
You're not going to think it would work.
But it really does.
(Think serpent on the pole...)
The help I needed, the help every mom needs that could help her tremendously, is simply the way she chooses to think about her situation.
It's in the intentionality of her thoughts.
People bringing meals, coming over to do dishes and laundry, holding the baby so new-mama can get a nap or take a shower, postpartum doulas= amazing.
Doctor appointments, therapy appointments, pelvic floor therapy appointments, lactation consultant appointments, life coaching appointments, massages=wonderful.
I wish all of that for every new mom. I wish she could have a village, rely on many, so her only job is to heal from birth, rest, and bond with that new baby.
BUT some moms can't afford all that. Some moms can but think they can't or shouldn't. Some moms have so much anxiety about having anyone into their home to see how "not ok" they actually are, or have a hard time going anywhere- and understandably so.
This is what I would tell past-me, and this is what I say to you, new mama who feels she can't ask for help but is struggling so much she just wants to start over. But this time with 4 extra arms, the ability to go weeks without sleep, and a PhD in child development.
I know that these were the kinds of thoughts going through my mind over and over during those days and weeks and months.
- This is too hard.
- I don't know what I'm doing.
- I hate this.
- I'm such a bad mom- I should be ok, I should like this.
- I want help, but if I ask, it means I'm incompetent.
- I can't burden anyone else.
- I should be able to do this on my own.
- What's wrong with me?
So if I had a time machine, I'd simple teach myself the importance of thinking intentionally, and offer these instead:
- You are enough.
- You are doing it right.
- You are exactly what your baby wants and needs. Just as you are. Without changing a thing.
- It's ok that there's a lot you don't know about all this.
- Why would you be great at it when you haven't done it before? (This one applies even if it's not your first baby- you've never taken care of a newborn with the amount of children you already had before. It's a lot no matter how many kids you have.)
- I am so sorry for how the birth went. You're allowed to be sad about it.
- I am so sorry breastfeeding has been painful. Let's call a lactation consultant today. It's absolutely worth it.
- You are right on track.
- It would be weird if your house was clean. You literally just had a baby and that's a big deal.
- Slow down, let others do those other things, just breathe, sleep, do more of what you want to and what feels good.
- You are not being lazy when you nap. You are not being indulgent when you shower. The best thing you can do right now for yourself, your baby, and your family is to rest. Rest is restorative and you went through a lot.
- Thank you for carrying that baby. Thank you for giving birth. I know you were scared. That was intense. Well done for getting through it.
- I love you. You are a great mom. You have a good heart.
- You are succeeding. I am so proud of you.
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