On Friday I felt like I was unraveling. You know those days where you think, "I'm shitty at everything." Ok, maybe you don't have those days but I tell myself they're normal.
I felt like my house was a wreck. Hartley woke up pissed off about something, and she decided she didn't feel like wasting time napping. Way more fun being awake. Way more fun getting snuggled by mom, accidentally head butting her, then screaming. I texted Brian about how miserable my day was going. I just completely made my texts sound not nearly as horrible as they actually were.
I put my grumpy baby down and did laundry. Folded it. Put it all away. Took a shower. Hartley sat in a clean diaper, well fed, just mean mugging. I love her but if she was more content in her swing than in my arms, who was I to fuck with that. At least I was getting stuff done. I eventually got her to nap around 3. Yeah, my newborn stayed awake for over 7 hours straight.
Brian knew I wasn't happy so he surprised me by coming home early from work. He walked through the door at 4. That's seriously a record. And here Hartley and I looked like we had our shit together all day. The house was tidy. I was showered. She was sleeping. But my mental state said different.
We actually ordered food. I had a corona. And I passed the baby off to her dad for a few hours.
And I felt so bad at being a mom. Didn't matter that she was alive - and clean, well feed and relatively content to boot. Didn't matter that I had read to her, snuggled her or sung to her. Didn't matter that I dangled toy after toy in front of her face talking in silly voices to her. In my eyes, I still sucked.
Why do we do that to ourselves?!
On Sunday, Hartley cried for an hour straight, and I called the doctor to talk to them about her tummy troubles. The advice nurse gave me good advice - all of which I had already tried myself, so nothing new. And I broke down crying saying to Brian what a bad mom I am. Broken record much?
The truth is I cried about being a bad mom on day two.
I had built up years of mentally preparing for her and decided when I could finally have a baby I'd be perfect. And it doesn't matter that I made a beautiful nursery for her or that I manage to always keep up with her laundry. It doesn't matter that I had newborn photos done of her or ordered gorgeous announcements. It doesn't matter that I am managing two baby books for her or documenting every moment. It doesn't matter that I wake up in the middle of the night with her, change nasty diapers or bathe a baby who hates baths. It doesn't matter that when she falls asleep on me and I'm in an uncomfortable position, I'll stay in that god awful position for an hour if it makes her happy.
I somehow get stuck on whatever I can't do or don't do we'll enough. Ugh.
I need to let to of "perfect". No one is perfect. My mother is the closest thing. Damn her placing that bar so high.
Luckily my husband brings me back down to earth. He reminded me yesterday that Easter is over a month away, and I'm already working on her basket. He told me how amazing it is that I already bought a little spring decor for her nursery. How it's so special that I'm always on a mission to make things magical for her even though she has no fucking clue what's going on these first holidays. So what if she cries from time to time. Babies cry. He even told me our house looks great - it just has more stuff because our daughter has lots of stuff.
I've heard this is a mom's plight for life. But I'm going to work hard to shake it. I need to accept that I'm not perfect. And Hartley wouldn't want a perfect robot for a mom anyway. And I need to start celebrating the little victories. Today's are updating the baby books and "dancing" with Hartley without her crying :)
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