Honest

{A letter for mama}

Wow. Having two kids is hard. Really hard. Like tears everyday hard (here they come again just writing that). I am filled with feelings of guilt (for not being able to spend as much time with Elle), extreme fatigue (oh yeah, newborns BARELY sleep at night, or at least mine doesn't all the sudden- did for a few nights there), sadness (life is different, and I am having trouble adjusting), love (I love my little Brynn very much, a new fresh love), anger (at waking up every two hours for the last two weeks) and happiness (that I have two beautiful little girls). And I have this annoying trauma hanging around from my birth and my horrible doctor.

It is so interesting that our brains seem to block bad things from us when it pertains to kids. I forgot the pain of Elle's birth until I was trying to crawl out of my own body to escape it with Brynn. I forgot that feeling of frustration when you spend an hour and half rocking a newborn to sleep for the sixth time with tears streaming down your cheeks only to have them pop awake 45 minutes later. I forgot the confusion of wondering what it is that will calm your baby and trying all of them. Wondering how the hell you did this before. Wondering why the hell you are doing it again!

But here is what I remember most about when Elle was small. Her warm weight snuggled on my chest. That tickly feeling when she tried to eat my neck while I burped her. Her tiny feet, hands and nose. All beautiful things. Sacred things. I vaguely remember the hard stuff my brain has pushed away. No need for those memories. And I know in a few months when I have a snuggle bug smiler who coos at her sister, this will all seem like a distant memory. And I won't remember very clearly the times in the middle of the night when I felt inadequate as a mother, a soother and caretaker. The times I longed for easier days. The times I felt angry at her.

I will remember the times that swaddle worked, she fell right asleep, her first 5 hour stretch, her first midnight smile. But I admit right now, as I am functioning on such little sleep, I feel like I am grasping at straws. Trying to solve this newborn puzzle, when in fact the only way to solve it is time. Her time. Not mine. So I must step back. When we are awake yet again in those early hours, realize I am holding in my arms the most precious gift, a healthy tiny baby who is mine. Dry my tears, drink a cup of tea and squeeze into the rocking chair for a long stretch of midnight snuggling.