By: Laura Thompson
As I strolled through the grocery store, my 7-week-old baby cradled in my arms, I found myself overwhelmed. He was my third child; by now, I was supposed to be a pro at this parenting gig. Clad in my yoga pants and a perpetually messy bun, exhaustion clung to me as if it were part of my outfit. It was a whirlwind of nostalgia and profound love. I often wished for the simplicity of my life with just two kids, yet my heart overflowed for this new little soul I had brought into the world.
But, let’s be honest, who talks about these feelings? While I was acutely aware of the sadness that loomed over me, I felt trapped. My “resting mom face” could have sent anyone running for the hills, yet in the presence of a newborn, it seemed that nobody paid attention to the mother — their focus was solely on the adorable bundle I was carrying.
Strangers would approach, eager to admire my baby. They would ask how he was doing, if he was sleeping well, and shower me with compliments about his cuteness. They would remind me to cherish these fleeting moments, as if I were not already aware of the preciousness of time.
Occasionally, someone would muster the courage to inquire about my well-being. As the mother who had just given birth to this delightful little creature, I was expected to respond with a cheerful “I’m fine,” or something along those lines. After all, that was the script we all followed.
So, there I was, on a Monday afternoon, pushing my cart down the frozen food aisle when a kind woman with salt-and-pepper curls approached me. She asked to see my baby, and I was ready to put on my best act. I was prepared to showcase the perfect life I was supposed to have, exuding confidence because he was my third child — clearly, I had it all figured out. How could I feel anything but joy?
But the truth was, I was struggling. Juggling three children was proving to be more than I anticipated. I felt a wave of emotions that I thought no mother should experience. No one warned me that it was okay to feel anything less than perfect.
When she asked how I was really doing, I instinctively brushed her off, clutching my cart tightly. “Oh, I’m fine. He’s my third, so, you know…” I recited my rehearsed lines, knowing that no one wanted to hear about my struggles.
But then she paused, gently stopping my cart with her hand. Looking me in the eyes, she asked again, “No, really, how are you?” I was taken aback by her sincerity. “I had five kids. I fell apart when I had number three,” she confessed, and in that moment, I felt seen.
With surprising candor, I revealed, “He’s 7 weeks old, and it still hurts to sit down.” The words spilled out like a torrent, and I had no idea why I was sharing such personal details with a stranger in the ice cream aisle. Yet, it felt right.
“He never sleeps. Everyone said it would be easier this time, but he’s harder than my first two combined.” I glanced at the various ice cream flavors, silently offering her an escape if she wanted it, but she stood her ground.
“Honestly, I’m not fine. People expect me to be okay just because I’ve done this before,” I admitted, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
“Or maybe it’s because you keep telling them you are fine. It’s okay to not be fine. It’s okay to ask for help,” she said, her no-nonsense approach resonating with me.
I confessed that asking for help was tough for me, which was really code for I didn’t want anyone to know how hard things were.
“Alright, don’t ask for help. Let things get worse. Keep suffering; that’s always an option,” she replied, her honesty both refreshing and sobering.
Her words struck a chord. She didn’t offer false reassurances; instead, she laid out my choices. It was exactly the kind of real talk I needed.
After our conversation, I picked up both the rocky road and the Reese’s Cup ice cream, feeling lighter. It was a revelation that it was okay to not be fine, and that I wasn’t alone in my struggles. I learned that seeking help, whether from my doctor or supportive friends, was essential. Most importantly, I understood the value of being gentle with myself.
Since that day, I’ve made it my mission to remind other mothers to practice self-compassion. Whether it’s your first or fifth child, the transition to motherhood is significant, and it’s perfectly acceptable to lower the expectations we place on ourselves. Acknowledging the challenges and reaching out for support are vital steps. I promise, you’ll be better for it.
For more insights on navigating the complexities of motherhood, check out this post on Cervical Insemination. If you’re exploring options for home insemination, Make A Mom offers reputable kits that can assist you. And for a comprehensive resource on fertility and pregnancy, visit CDC’s infertility FAQ.
Summary
After the birth of my third child, I struggled with feelings of inadequacy and the pressure to appear fine. A chance encounter with a stranger in the grocery store helped me realize the importance of self-compassion and seeking help. Embracing my struggles and lowering expectations has been crucial in my journey as a mother.
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