And then, she takes a bath, eats and spend some time cuddled up on my chest. She lets out this very satisfied, full baby burp and curls into my neck, wrapping her fingers in my hair. She falls asleep, her breathing even and deep. She sighs and groans quietly in her sleep, adjusting every now and then to get closer.
I find myself sitting there stroking her back, with my nose pressed into her baby soft hair, smelling the sweet lavender soap and the smell that is uniquely Bailey. My body relaxes, my headache begins to fade away (with the help of 4 Advil), and suddenly everything that seemed so wrong just a half hour ago is back into it's proper place.
This is so intense. More intense than falling in love. More intense than the skydiving I did when I was 20. More intense than moving to DC, alone, in 3 days. More intense than anything I've ever done, ever conceived of, ever even dreamed that I could be a part of.
Don't think too harshly of me. I'm learning. I'm trying. I'm easily frustrated, and overly exhausted. I keep telling myself that being annoyed with Bailey doesn't make me a bad Momma. That venting my frustration is not a bad thing, but rather the only thing that will help me get through it.
Problem is, like with everything in my life, I wanted to be perfect at this. I wanted to be a perfect mother. I wanted this to be the happiest time of my life. I wanted this role to be THE role that I had been waiting to play.
Turns out, again, that I'm human. And I'm just a woman. Struggling through, trying to figure out how to be a Momma to a little girl blessed with all my stubbornness and all my emotional need to be close to the people I love.
I'm glad it's a three day weekend. I'm glad that I'm going to take a couple of hours and go be alone and see Pirates of the Caribbean. I'm glad that my relationship with Kelly is so strong that we can put it on autopilot for a while and not worry about its health. I'm glad that I'm going to pick up a bottle of wine for tonight.
I'm glad that I've been in enough therapy in my life to know that I need to say this shit out loud, rather than let it eat me up inside.
I'm glad that I'm strong enough to admit that I'm not perfect and mature enough to learn how to adapt.
I'm blessed that my wife loves me in spite of all of this shit...and I suspect even loves me more because of it.
More than anything, I'm truly grateful that right now, in this moment, Bailey is sound asleep on our bed and I'm going to take a shower, shave my legs and listen to nothing but the sound of running water.
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2 comments:
You don't know me from a hole in the wall, but I've been lurking and cheering y'all on for awhile now. And though my wife and I aren't parents yet, the word I get from all the mamas in my life is that it IS hard. And there ARE moments when you're angry and frustrated, rather than serene and full of love. From over here, I think you're doing a great job, your learning curve is vertical, and you're doing exactly right by admitting your feelings, and not beating yourself up about them. Infants are hard, gruelling work (I worked in daycare long enough to know that's true, even when you're NOT their primary source of everything). You're doing great.
This is so beautiful and honest and lovely and hard. Just know you're not alone in all these feelings...not by a longshot.
(Thanks for the blogroll mention - honored to be here and happy to have found you.)
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