My Separation Anxiety

Will, my dear Will, is dealing with some major separation anxiety.  We started weaning just as I joined a new gym with childcare where I'm taking him twice a week.  Somehow the combination wasn't good and sparked this incredible attachment to me.

Let me give you the idea.

I carry him into the grocery store and he begins to cry and cling to me for dear life, afraid I'm going to leave him there.

I leave the room for a second at home to go to the bathroom and he screams bloody murder.

Alex takes him downstairs to play while I make dinner and he cries the whole time.

Ugh.

And this was the state in which we left him with my parents for 48 hours while we went away to Wisconsin.  Much to everyone's surprise, Will did great!  According to his grandparents' report, he was in a great mood, slept and ate well, and did not cry.

Of course I was happy to hear this.  Of course I want him to be able to cope without me.  Of course I want the freedom to get away and do my own thing every once in a while.  But there is a part of me that is sad, too.  I sort of wanted him to act a little more excited to see us when we got him.  I sort of like the little hands pulling at my pantlegs and the little legs wrapped like a monkey around my waist.  If I'm honest, even though it kills me every time, I even sort of like hearing him cry when I drop him off in the nursery.  Not because I like hearing him upset, but I like being loved, knowing he wants to be with me.

This weaning is becoming a bigger deal for me than I would like to admit.  I'm reluctant to give up nursing, but for many reasons I will not go into here, I know it is time.  I will be sad no matter when it happens...and sooner or later, that day must come.

Our neighbor-babysitter went to college a month ago yesterday.  I ran into her mother who reported that Rachel is doing well, studying hard, making friends, having a great time.  Such a great time that she doesn't want to come home!  She smiled and said she was so happy for her...all she wanted was for her daughter to one day thrive in college, spread her wings, be independent.  Then all of a sudden, she got all choked up and started crying.  The truth came out as she whispered, "I just feel like my heart has been torn out of my chest."

Oh, man.  All of a sudden, I lost it, too.  And there we are blubbering on the driveway, dealing each in our own way with that ever-present tension of parenthood.  We want our kids to go off on their own, we know that's our job after all, but we just want them to always come running home with a hug and a kiss and an "I missed you, Mom."  Motherhood is, as the saying goes, walking around with your heart outside your body.  I think mothers always feel a little funny until everyone is back safe in the nest.


Pastor Andy Stanley says we are all created to care about our parents.  He says we are all born with a giant bungee cord tied to us at one end and to our parents at the other.  No matter how far we stretch the cord, there's always a pull toward home.

I like that.  Maybe my job as a mom isn't to cut the strings and let Will one day fly free on his own wherever the wind may take him.  I think really my job is just to slowly...and I mean sloooooooowly...lengthen the cord and let Will run a little further, and then a little further, on his own.  Someday he'll be able to play in the basement alone, then go to school half day, full day, then go on sleepovers, then summer camp, then--gulp--college.  My job is to lengthen the cord and give Will the skills and tools he needs to thrive without me.

The ugly truth is that my end of the cord is tied to my heart, and with each tug and pull, it is my heart that ends up bloody and torn.  There is another truth: the truth that when he stretches the cord too far, there's only one place he'll end up.  He'll be sprung right back home, right back into my arms, with a hug and a kiss and an "I missed you, Mom."  And somehow that single moment heals everything.

Motherhood has already shown me unspeakable joy, and it has already exposed my heart to unbelievable pain.  I guess all loving relationships that feed and delight our souls at their deepest level require vulnerability and risk.  This is why we were designed to find our total fulfillment in God alone.  Humans will always disappoint us, but God never will.  Humans, even our own children, are ultimately out of our control, but never out of His.  Every day on this earth, as I deepen my love for Alex and Will, I deepen my dependence on God.

So while Will is adjusting to whole milk and time away from me in a nursery, I'm adjusting, too.  My little boy is growing up.  Time to lengthen the cord.  But just a little. 

What is Love?

What is love?  Really?

Yesterday I was telling a friend about my birth experience with Will and I confessed that I didn't really love him right away.  He seemed more like a stranger to me at first.  The love came with time.

But that's not true.  Loving feelings came over time.  Loving feelings came when I saw Will smile at me and when I heard him laugh.  Loving feelings exploded when Will began to love me back.  But love, the truest form of love I have ever felt, came the moment I saw those two little pink lines.

At that moment, I chose to alter my life and my plans and my waistline for the benefit of someone I couldn't see or touch or hold.  Someone who could not love me back.

When I cut back on caffeine, that was love.

When I endured a vicious cold with no medication, that was love.

When I gave up opportunities on our babymoon to go in a jacuzzi or go horseback riding, that was love.

When I sat uncomfortably on the floor for hours fighting with the assembly instructions for a pack-n-play, that was love.

When I endured back pain and nerve pain and labor pains, that was love.

When I comforted those newborn cries, that was love.

When I sat alone nursing in the middle of the night, crying silently with the pain, that was love.

All the love I've ever known for anyone grew over time.  As Alex exhibited his godly character and engaged me in soulful conversation and showered me in compliments and kindness, I grew to love him.  I loved him for who he was and for how he made me feel.  But that wasn't true love.  Not then.

We look for love deep in our souls.  We look for it in those moments when our hearts skip a beat and when we feel the butterflies in our stomachs.  But we're looking in the wrong places.  Love is more than that.

I couldn't know true love until I became a parent.  From the moment I knew I was pregnant, I chose to sacrifice myself to meet this little stranger's needs, to give him the best of everything, knowing he could give me nothing in return. 

I chose to love him.

I loved him not for who he was, but because he was.  Because he was, he was worthy.

And that's love.

"And God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us."
Romans 5:8

Paradox of Motherhood

Last night was a tough night.  Will would not settle down and go to bed.  Even nursing, he would pull off and scream every once in a while at random intervals.  It was so frustrating.  Finally, we gave him some Tylenol (this must be teething related!) and put him to bed--an hour after his normal bed time.  He continued to scream.

I couldn't take it.

After a little while, I went up to his room and picked him up and nursed him again in his room in the dark.  I sang to him...and he fell asleep.

Even after he was asleep, I kept rocking with him.  I was just soaking in the moment.  As frustrating as these days can be sometimes, I will miss them tremendously when they are gone.  I take advantage of every opportunity to cuddle and rock with Will knowing one day I won't be able to hold his whole little body in my arms.

Motherhood is a strange paradox.  It is the greatest challenge I have ever faced and it brings the greatest joy I have ever known.

Letter to a New Mom

Dear New Mom,

First of all, before you read anything else, know that you are not alone.  Yes, this whole baby thing is more amazing than you could have imagined, and it just plain sucks a lot more than you ever thought it would.  You are not crazy.  It will get better.  You will be normal again.  I promise.

I spent 9 months reading books and websites about every aspect of pregnancy.  I spent hours researching my registry items.  I went to the childbirth classes and watched countless episodes of "Baby Story."  And I think I handled the pregnancy and the delivery all right.  But nothing prepared me for those first few weeks at home.  No one warned me what that would really be like. 

Well, here you go.  I'll tell you my story.  I'll tell you what I wish someone had told me.

The first week just sucks.  I was a hormonal, emotional mess.  I cried all the time.  I cried because I was so tired.  I cried thinking of how much pain I was in and how different my body felt.  I cried worried if I would ever get back to normal.  I cried because it hurt so badly to sit in our kitchen chairs.  I cried because my nipples were blistered and sore and the last thing I wanted to do was nurse.  I cried seeing Alex with Will, calming him by rocking him and allowing him to suck his little finger.  I cried watching my mom so excited to have a grandson and watching her sing to Will the songs she had once sung to me.  I cried realizing that I was not a child any more—I was a mom.  I cried when flowers arrived and I was overcome by the joy of others as we welcomed little Will.  I cried wondering if I would ever be able to do all this on my own.  And I cried when I thought of how lucky I was, how blessed I was to have a son and be starting a family with the man I love. 

I know it was hard for Alex to see me so emotionally exhausted.  Even though Will started sleeping in his crib his second night home, we were both tired because our sleep was interrupted and irregular.  We were just off our routine.  Nothing was “normal” anymore.  We couldn’t go to bed at the same time, we couldn’t eat dinner together.  We didn’t have our “us” time.  My mom helped as much as she could.  She took Will on a walk one night during dinner to allow us to eat in peace.  She would let me feed Will, then she would take over soothing him to sleep.  That helped, but then I would start crying again thinking that I was a horrible mother who would rather pawn off her child on someone else than be there to fulfill his needs.  I cried because I knew I couldn't handle all this.

I hated feeling helpless and worthless.  I hated that I couldn't go up and down the stairs.  Alex said I just had to sit back and relax and let other people help me out.  I was on "Injured Reserve"--I wasn't cleared to be on the field.  I would heal and I would get back in the game, and my old position would be waiting for me, but not yet.  (I cried when he said that, too!)

The second week I started to feel just enough better physically that I started to believe that I would heal and I might be normal one day.  This small physical change made a huge difference for my emotional well-being, too, as I started to gain a little confidence in my own ability to get through this.  I still couldn't get a handle on the tears.  I was ready to have my mom leave when the time came, but I was still a teary mess when we said goodbye and reality sunk in.  I was the mom now.  It was up to me to get a handle on my own junk so that I could focus on filling the needs of my baby...and focus on my husband, too!

By the third week (actually, 2.5 weeks after delivery), I was back in my jeans and that's when I really started to feel better!  Those little milestones become really big deals.  I also noticed my emotions evening out as well.  No more super-high highs and terrifyingly-low lows.  The tears started to dissipate.

By the fourth week, I was taking walks outside again.  They started very short, but I was able to get outside, have some quiet time with Alex (Will always slept in the stroller!), and begin to enjoy some of the aspects of motherhood.

By the sixth week I thought, "If I was going back to work, I could do it now!"  I felt pretty much back to normal.

By the eighth week (yes, it really took that long for me), I finally was able to nurse without pain.  I started to look forward to those times in the day when he would nurse with me.  We would snuggle together, maybe watch some junk HGTV, or just listen to some quiet music.  Sometimes he would lie with me in bed and I loved taking a half hour periodically in the day to slow down and just be together.

I'm writing this now six months in.  I'm still not back to 100% normal, but I'm close.  I can honestly say, though, that everything--all the pain, all the craziness--is well worth it and motherhood is the greatest adventure I've ever experienced.  It's so much better than I could have imagined.

So, new mom, you'll get through this.  You'll be fine.  Take advantage of the help you are offered.  Don't be afraid to cry or be scared.  But remember: You'll be fine.  You will be a great mom.  You will love your kid tremendously.  You'll probably always cry more than you did before (that's motherhood!) but you will get a handle on your emotions.  You will regain your sex drive.  You will feel normal again. 

You'll be fine.  You'll be better than fine.  You'll be great. 

Your friend,
Sarah

My Mantra

I started to get really sad as I was putting away some baby clothes.  There were these adorable little onesies and sleepers that I had imagined Will wearing before he was even born.  And now, they are too small!  He will never wear them again.

I am a sentimental person (thanks, Dad) and I know a part of me will mourn each passing stage throughout Will's entire life, but if I'm crying over little pajamas, this is going to be a really, really long road!

So, my new mantra: It just gets better!

I must remind myself of this truth every day.  So he can no longer fit into that cute knit hat--but now he can fit into that Gymboree outfit I love so much.  So he isn't exclusively nursing anymore--but now I get the joy of feeding him.  So I can't hold him with one arm anymore--but now he can sit up and laugh...and I can't get enough of that laugh!

I know not everything ahead is "better," per se.  We'll have bumps along the way.  I'm not really looking forward to potty training, or braces, or broken bones, or Drivers Ed.  And I will miss the baby babbles and the toothless grins and the cuddles and the lullabies.  Who am I kidding?  But one day, I want to look at Will and instead of thinking, "Oh man, I miss my baby!" I want to say, "Wow.  What an amazing man he is.  I love him now more than I ever did before."

And that will be the truth.

That's Motherhood

My little boy is two weeks old today.  It's been a total blur!  Before my mother left last Thursday, I was physically feeling so much better, but still crying uncontrollably.  As I'd been relying on my mother's expertise to coach me through all the other aches and pains, I also asked her about this: "When will the crying stop?"  She welled up with tears herself and said, "It never stops.  That's motherhood.  There will be moments when you feel so much love that your chest can't hold your heart."

Even today (and I'm admittedly sleep deprived), I'm holding my baby boy and rocking him to sleep and the tears come again.  I just feel so much love that my chest can't hold my heart.  I just want to freeze this moment in time and revisit it whenever I want.  There is nothing better than cuddling a sleeping baby, my son, hearing his breathing while he is calmed by my heartbeat.  It's so hard late at night when all I want to do is put him to bed so that I can also get some sleep!  But too soon these days will be gone.  I want to soak up every minute.

I cry less now, and they are happy tears, but I don't expect them to ever disappear.  That's motherhood.