So, this post might lose me some readers. I have noticed that my traffic has been decreasing pretty steadily since Will made his arrival. I get that. I think a lot of people saw me through the safe arrival of my son and have moved on. It's a bit sad for me, but once again, I get it. It's hard to read about yellow babies with jaundice and sleeping through the night, when you are so depressed that you are green with envy and sleeping through the day. I've been there.
When I write what I am about to write, I realize that I might lose the rest of you. But I have always tried to be honest on this blog, so I am going going to change tactics now.
Being a new parent is hard.
Yes, I know, duh. Right? Of course, I knew that. I had seen my friends go through this. I knew it would be tough. I knew that it would change everything. I knew that I would have moments where I didn't know what to do.
What I didn't know, what you can't learn from the sidelines, is that I would feel this way every day. I didn't know that I would second-guess myself constantly. I didn't know that the nighttime feedings wouldn't bother me at all, but my son's refusal to nap without be held would reduce me to tears. I didn't know that watching him squirm in pain from the gas and not be able to do anything would make me feel so hopeless. I didn't know that I could feel like such a failure when I can't soothe him and big tears well in his eyes. Tears.
Perhaps it is infertility still rearing its ugly head. Kind of like when I was pregnant and suffering from horrible morning sickness, I would feel bad complaining. And if I did complain, people would say, "Well, this is what you wanted, right?" They were and still are correct. I wanted a baby, I wanted to be a mom. I suppose if I am really honest, I also wanted it to be easy after everything else had been so hard.
I also think that with infertilty, babies take on this status that they could never really achieve in real life. My poor angel babies are revered in my minds eye. They never cry, I was the one shedding all of the tears. I always knew I was a good parent to them in mourning them as I did. Now, my greatest fear is that I am failing Will, that I am not a good mom. This is what I have wanted, fought for, given my everything for, and I am afraid that I am not quite living up to the task.
All of this is not to say that I would go back to my infertile life. Not for every dollar in the world. I love Will and I have faith that this will get easier and that I will get better at it. It's just a lot harder than I thought it would be.
And sometimes, I cry tears, too.