Ruined Expectations of Motherhood

My Gideon, 
I was so wrong in my expectations of being your mom. This week while sorting a box from childhood I found a form I filled out for the fifth  grade time capsule where I had written in my fanciest fifth grader cursive that my career goal was “to be a mom”. I have always wanted this. I have spent my whole life loving kids, babysitting, adoring my little sisters and literally could not wait to have my own precious child, through birth or adoption. I could not wait for you sweet boy. But now I find myself laughing thinking how wrong I was about everything.

First let me clarify the greatest misconception that I had-  I never realized that I could love something so much. Especially something that interferes with my sleep in such a profound way. Each day I fall more and more in love with you, and yet feel like each day I could never love you any more than I already do. I literally love you with every cell in my being sweet boy.

I laugh when I think of my labor with you. I wanted a home birth, but settled on a hospital birth that was as natural as possible. I read a book about having a home birth in the hospital, and I imagined laboring in the tub, toughing it through without medications and being a hero, Mark rubbing my back, quickly pushing out a perfect baby, breastfeeding perfectly, and leaving the hospital within 24 hours - and of course, NEVER having a c-section. Oh but you had different plans. I was induced, pumped full of medication, begged for an epidural, had a c-section, and you came out like you had been in battle, beat up and terribly bruised, we struggled with breastfeeding, and were in the hospital for six days.

Then I think of our nights, and I laugh. I read Babywise, and Happiest Baby on the Block, and lots of blogs about this too. I imagined you sleeping for long chunks at night, only to be interrupted by “dreamfeeding”, where I nurse you without waking you and then nicely lay you back down and we both fall back asleep. I pictured you in our room for a couple weeks, and then moving your crib in the nursery. Oh sweet boy, this is not how we spend our nights. I am not even sure you know what a "night" is. Last night we were up every 45 minutes, suctioning out your tiny nose, nursing, changing diapers (kicking myself for doing cloth diapers at time), trying to massage gas out of your tummy, tripping over the mess in our room, moving you between the swing, rock and play, and our bed – figuring something has to work, crying (both of us), all while trying to not wake up Dad or 2 year old D (our foster kiddo). We have watched three seasons of Hoarders at nights (you know so I could feel like my house isn’t so messy), I have eaten through our candy stash, and neither of us really seem to sleep. That’s how nights really are.

Next I think of maternity leave. I imagined us snuggling,  getting ahead on freezer meals for when I go back to work, unpacking our basement from the recent move, running errands, visiting Dad at work, visiting friends, going on walks, reading the dozens of books I have waiting on my kindle, exercising. HA. We do our fair share of snuggling, but I find myself doing laundry every day (we used to do once a week!), tending to your nose and medication schedule, going to doctor appointments, trying to get dishes done (just enough so we have dishes for the next meal), dealing with insurance messes, stuffing my face when I get a few seconds of peace, and dealing with Foster Care stuff for little D. We are quarantined in the house due to your suppressed immune system and the high risk of getting you sick. We have been admitted in Ann Arbor twice. We can’t even go on walks because it’s like single digits cold. The basement looks like a bomb went off – well actually that’s how the whole house looks, there are zero meals in the freezer,  I have read maybe a half of book, you have two surgeries scheduled, and I cannot even remember what exercising is. But I would not change anything to be with you day in and day out, watching your every move. 

Then I think of the schedule I had written down for you. It looked something like this: nurse, play, nap for a few hours while I get things done, and repeat. What our schedule actually looks like is me trying to get you to sleep anyway I can - all day long. And when you get to sleep, I just sit there and watch you – afraid you will get something in your nose and not be able to take a breath, and I don’t get anything done. Sometimes I doze in and out with you on my chest or snuggled next to you in bed.  I never imagined having to try and get you to take steroids and antibiotics, rinsing out your nose several times a day, and shoving your little hernia back in, so those things did not make it onto the schedule. Giddy, you totally missed the memo on sleeping for longer than an hour, and you want to leisurely eat every two hours. So needless to say the schedule is a laughing matter in our house.

Although everything has not gone remotely close to how I imagined, it is so much harder, but so much more awesome than I could have dreamed. I am cherishing this time with you precious boy, loving you more and more each day.

Now as I think of all this when I find myself crying in the middle of the night in frustration and fatigue, I can’t really help but cling to Jesus who provides hope, rest, and peace, remind myself that this is just a season, and laugh.

Love, 

Your head-over-heels in love and exhausted Momma

Sweet snuggle time

Here is the sweet ruin-er of all my expectations