Motherhood: The Beautiful, The Messy, and Everything In Between

Motherhood. It’s changed me, that’s for sure. Sometimes I find myself wondering whether it’s changed me for the better or the worse.

Lately, I’ve noticed just how easily frustration finds its way into my days. I push myself harder than I probably should, expecting myself to somehow do it all, and when I can’t, I become angry. Not necessarily at anyone else, but at myself. And that’s the part that scares me. I don’t want to become an angry person. I don’t want motherhood to take away the softer parts of me.

I’ve always struggled with asking for help. Somewhere along the way, I’ve convinced myself that needing a hand means I’m inconveniencing someone else. But I’m slowly learning that asking for help doesn’t make me a burden, and it certainly doesn’t make me a failed mother. I’m allowed to need a break. I’m allowed to need guidance. I’m allowed to not have everything figured out.

Having a baby with severe colic and reflux is not for the weak. And I mean that in every sense of the word.

There have been so many nights where I sit and listen to my baby girl scream, knowing she’s uncomfortable and wishing I could somehow take it all away. I feel helpless. I feel guilty. And sometimes, if I’m being completely honest, I feel like I’m failing her.

We’ve seen specialists, tried medications, adjusted doses, gone through what feels like an endless rotation of formulas, bottles, and nipple types. I’ve researched, questioned, and tried just about everything. And yet, the answer seems to be the same: it’s something she’ll eventually grow out of.

But what about now? What about these first few months of her life? I don’t want her earliest memories, even if she won’t consciously remember them, to be filled with discomfort. I want to enjoy these little moments without constantly worrying about her next feeding, her next cry, or whether something else is hurting her.

And then there’s the guilt I carry about breastfeeding. I started out producing milk, and for a while, things seemed to be going well. But somewhere between the sleepless nights, forgetting to eat and drink enough, and the constant stress, my supply slowly disappeared. I often wonder if my body was simply overwhelmed, if I had pushed myself into a constant state of survival mode. I know it wasn’t entirely within my control, but there’s still a part of me that wonders what I could have done differently.

Motherhood has also made me realize how much my world has changed. Even the simplest outings can feel like an entire production. Taking a baby with severe colic and reflux out into the world isn’t exactly easy. Sometimes it’s easier to stay home, where everything is familiar and I can try to soothe her without feeling like an audience is watching.

But the truth is, she might cry at home, too.

I think I need to learn to be okay with that. To be okay with taking her places, even if she cries. To be okay with comforting her in public without worrying about what strangers might think. I don’t want to spend these early months hiding away because I’m afraid someone will mistake a struggling baby for a bad mother.

Because a crying baby doesn’t mean a bad mother. And a mother who hasn’t figured everything out doesn’t mean she’s failing.

I suppose that’s motherhood, isn’t it?

You learn. You grow. You question yourself. You have days where you feel like you’ve got it all together, followed by days where you wonder if you’re doing anything right at all. You lose pieces of your old routine, discover parts of yourself you never knew existed, and slowly learn that you can’t pour from an empty cup.

I don’t think motherhood has made me a worse person. I think it’s introduced me to parts of myself that still need patience, grace, and a little understanding.

I’m learning that I don’t have to be the perfect mother. I just have to keep showing up. Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days.

And when I look at my little girl, despite the exhaustion, the tears, the uncertainty, and all the moments I’ve questioned myself, I know one thing:

I would choose her, every single time.

The sleepless nights won’t last forever. The endless bottles, the crying, the worrying, and the feeling that I’m constantly figuring things out will eventually become memories.

And somehow, through all the chaos, the end result is still the most priceless thing I’ve ever known.

Until next time,

The archivist 🎀