Still in there

Becoming a Mama has been an...interesting journey. Not all of it has been pleasant. I'm not talking about the sleep deprivation or the constant poop clean-up. Those things, I think, are pretty much expected and (somewhat) easily dealt with. Your body basically adjusts to having broken sleep, and skin is highly washable. Not even the mightiest of diaper disasters can scare me, especially now. No, the most difficult part of the past year has been the struggle to hold on to my former self, or at least a few tiny shreds. I know you know what I'm talking about.

I had so many grand visions of what motherhood would look like. I would wear my baby about town doing all the things I used to do: we'd snuggle in coffee shops. I'd read to her in the book store. She would be an extension of myself--a tiny, sweet reflection of both her father and me. Everyone has these dreams of parenthood, I think. Were it not for ideals, we wouldn't bother having kids, right? Sure, there would be struggles, but we'd persevere, holding our heads high and telling tales of the tough times at dinner parties.

These moments are actually pretty rare. Babies are heavy!

I couldn't have been more wrong about the early days of motherhood. My perfect, romantic homebirth gave way to a hospital transfer and much-dreaded cesarean after three grueling days of labor. The baby whom I'd pictured sliding out of my body and onto my chest in a pool of water, the baby who was supposed to grunt and latch immediately to my breast was instead pulled and yanked from me and whisked away. Instead of crawling cozily into my own bed and drifting to sleep with my perfect pink little bundle I was laid up in a hospital bed, unable to move on my own. Unable to respond to my daughter's cries without help.

This is not how I expected to meet my daughter, but I love this photo. 

Little E's birth was my first lesson in letting go. Now almost a year later, I'm still struggling with this concept. I've read it all on a hundred blogs, heard it all from a hundred friends. Let the dishes pile up, they say. Soak up every minute, because they grow so fast, I've read. And I know. Looking back, I know this is sound advice. The only problem is, sometimes I want to do the dishes. Sometimes, in order to be happy in the present moment, I first have to find time to put the laundry away. I miss cooking. I miss scrubbing my bathroom until it gleams. And lately, I've learned I can do both. I can have fun with my girl and get crafty. Really.

This weekend was crazy. At first I thought I'd yet again bitten off more than I could chew. So many ingredients! Multiple trips to the store! There's no way!

I wanted to make jam for my soon-to-be mother and sister-in-law for Mother's Day. It turns out, going out and buying all the ingredients to make jam with fruit that's not quite yet in season isn't really a good idea cost-wise, but I think we broke even. I tossed a vanilla pod in with the simmering strawberries to make it a little more special than store-bought varieties. Success! 

Next up: Opa's birthday cake. Oh boy. I've had this heap of sugary, peanut buttery doom bookmarked for months, and couldn't wait to test it out. I called a girlfriend over to entertain the baby and took my time with the assembly, taking frequent breaks to dance and nurse and gossip and drink some fantastic dark beer. Four hours later, we had ourselves a cake!

I almost passed out just from licking the frosting from my fingers. And the spatula. And the bowl. And the mixer paddle...you get my drift. It took all day, and that is precisely my point here. It's okay to spend an entire day baking a cake if that's what you want to do. It's also okay to spend the whole day in your pajamas. Or two hours primping in the bathroom to make yourself feel pretty, provided you have someone to come make silly faces at the baby while you take some time once in a while. 

New parents spend so much time fretting over the small things, so much time feeling guilty and agonizing over every decision. Six months ago, there's no way I could've pulled off a two-day kitchen marathon. It takes time to get to this point, and it also requires good friends and a relatively independent child. But it's good to know I'm still in there, somewhere.