By: Emily Johnson
Updated: Dec. 27, 2015
Originally Published: Sep. 4, 2012
I’ve been a mom for ten weeks, five days, and four hours. Yes, I keep track of that, mostly because each minute leading up to bedtime feels like an eternity. We’ve survived a whole day! No one has perished, and while there was a minor spat about the swaddle, we’re generally content. In this new realm of swaddles, bumbos, and sleep training, making it to bedtime without any major disasters counts as a victory. Well, almost…
As the day winds down, a sneaky little feeling creeps in: guilt. Guilt is like that uninvited guest that lingers around, unlike the loud and honest tantrums my little one throws when feeding doesn’t go her way. That’s straightforward; guilt, on the other hand, is a master at sidling up to my insecurities.
Countless times each day, I feel like I’m caught in a whirlwind—by the demands of motherhood, the weight of expectations, and the emotional chaos that comes with that tiny seven-pound bundle of joy. Shouldn’t I just soak in the bliss, knowing that countless others would love to be in my shoes? Guilt whispers just that in my ear.
Postpartum depression is as elusive as guilt. It ebbs and flows in intensity. It does improve, but oh-so-slowly, and sometimes it seems to worsen again. My whole world has turned upside down—will I be a good parent? Will she resent me? What if she gets devoured by wolves? Or worse, what if she becomes famous for something ridiculous like Miley Cyrus?
Hazel is my sunshine and my heart, but on some days, I secretly wish for her to take an epic 15-hour nap so I can do mundane things like cooking with both hands, taking a shower, or—gasp—actually sleeping.
Today, I’ll just have to be content with knowing there are 5.5 hours until bedtime and that no one has met their demise yet. Victory!
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In summary, motherhood is a rollercoaster ride filled with joys and challenges, and as I count down the hours to bedtime, I remind myself that surviving each day is a win worth celebrating.