Hey there, Mama. I see you struggling, and trust me, I understand. I’ve walked in your shoes, and it’s not easy. Right now, I’m sitting in my cozy booth at Panera, freshly showered with my makeup on, sipping a steaming cup of coffee that I’ll savor before it turns cold. I’m here without my kids, taking a breather to write and recharge my career.
But you? You’re in the thick of it.
I can see it in the messy bun barely holding together, that shirt on inside out, and those yoga pants that have seen better days. The overstuffed stroller and the bulging diaper bag tell a story of their own, and those dark circles under your eyes speak volumes. And that little one in your arms? She’s not making it any easier.
I can feel your frustration. Fourteen weeks old? Ah, yes, the peak of colic. I see you trying every trick in the book to soothe her, bouncing and holding her close, desperately wishing for a moment of peace amidst the chaos of coffee cups and cheerful chatter around you.
I can picture that moment from this morning when the cries echoed through your home, pushing you to get out before you lost your mind. You wrapped her in her favorite pink blanket, hoping for a dose of patience as you strapped her into the carrier. I can see how you leaned against the kitchen counter, savoring that brief moment without a baby in your arms, while searching for your keys and coat like they were relics from a different life.
You thought, “We just need some fresh air.” A change of pace, a break from those four walls. But as you sat at the stoplight, the weight of exhaustion pressed down on you. You probably thought, “I’m a mom now; she’s my priority.”
I see the fatigue etched on your face, remnants of pacing the floor at night, hoping for sleep for both of you. I can sense the tears welling as your partner leaves for work, off to handle adult responsibilities while you face another day of soothing a tiny, fussy baby who seems to have a mind of her own.
I know how tempting it is to give in to the overwhelming exhaustion, to acknowledge that this colicky baby isn’t what you envisioned when you first saw those two lines on the test a year ago. But trust me, you matter. You are not alone in this.
As I look at you from across the café, I see your strength. Those arms holding your baby? They are powerful. Your legs that pace and push the stroller for miles? They are capable. That tired sigh? It’s a testament to your perseverance. You will get through this; that’s what mothers do. And deep down, you know this phase will pass. One day, the cries will fade, and you’ll find it both wonderful and strange to miss that little voice that called for you.
I see you as the one who loves her most. In that fleeting moment when you sip your coffee and find a hint of relief, I see the woman you are. I’ve been there, and I promise you, one day, you’ll sit where I am now—looking put together, coffee in hand, and a smile on your face.
If you’re looking for more support and resources, check out our other blog posts like this one about managing motherhood or explore options for at-home insemination kits at Make a Mom for those considering starting their families. For more in-depth information, Hopkins Medicine provides excellent resources on pregnancy and home insemination.
You’ve got this, Mama.
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