When I delivered you and Daddy accompanied you to get checked out in the nursery, there were two things on my mind:
- Calling your auntie to tell her I pooped on the table.
- Eating my post-birth chicken nuggets.
I know this isn’t the story I’m supposed to tell. I’m supposed to drone on and on about looking into your sweet precious eyes and loving you before you were ever conceived and how I spent the days before your birth decoupaging the walls of your room and freaking out when anyone accidentally touched me with a piece of bleu cheese and wondering if the lysteria somehow seeped straight into my veins and vowing I’d never own a cat because cats kill babies (I mean really it’s their MO. they’re nothing but a bunch of baby killers, amirite?) and quietly tsking my tongue whenever I saw a rowdy toddler in a grocery store knowing in my heart of hearts that YOU would never turn out to be so disrespectful.
But that just ain’t me, man.
You know me. And I know you. But the day they handed you to me, I had my doubts. Here was something so beautiful, so incredibly fragile, needing me to be calm, to be delicate and water a seed I believed I was ready to grow. It wasn’t that I was saddened by you. I was perplexed by you. And I wasn’t sure if I could appreciate you fully. If I could be an “unfuck-up” at the most important job given to (wo)man. And for the life of me I couldn’t stop thinking about that damn chicken.
This is the thing: it takes me awhile to process things. It takes me awhile to warm up my heart. And in the beginning there were moments of self doubt so strong, I wasn’t sure this was the right avenue for me. I have to say, I don’t doubt myself often. Okay, screw that, I do all the time. But I don’t really say it out loud. The whole time I had this gorgeous thing in my arms, smiled my proud smile as if you were a new Coach bag everyone was admiring. In my head I was thinking “Oh yes, 50% and an extra 20% off on top of that!” But in reality I knew I couldn’t own you. Not all of you. Not yet.
I sometimes felt like I was watching someone else’s child. Like your mother would saunter through the door at any second and I’d recount what we had done that day. “Well, miss Ava ate and then she puked. And then she ate some more. Then she pooped. A lot. Okay that will be two hundred even.” And after I’d outstretch my palm I’d skip all the way to the coffee shop or the library or the bar and filter back into society, knowing exactly where I belonged.
It took me three months, Ava, to realize you were mine. At three months you smiled. I mean REALLY smiled. And at that moment I knew a couple of truths:
- I did the right thing by choosing this life. It is not easy. It will NEVER be easy because it’s much like letting a puppy loose in traffic and saying “okay, be careful! I’ll pick you up at three and then we’ll have snack time and do homework!”
- You are mine but you are NOT me. I don’t play to this theory that because I had you, you represent me in every way, shape and form. Instead, I think of you as an individual. You are not responsible for me or for my happiness. You are one hundred percent responsible for your life, your happiness. I mentioned this to someone once and she said “Wow, that’s an interesting way of looking at it.” Whatever you say, lady…
- I am not perfect. Surprising, I know. I try to make the best choices but I have done a number of “bad mommy” things. I’ve accidentally hit your head on the car door, I’ve accidentally pinched you in the car seat, I drink way too much caffeine… but I love you. and everything I intend to do for you, I do with love.
- Some of my old issues will present themselves in your lifetime like they have this week. I haven’t been your “true mommy.” I haven’t been as happy-go-lucky as I try to be for you but I know it’s because I’m sick and because I’m waiting for a little change. But I vow to do whatever I need to do whether it be meds, therapy, talk to someone, or write in order to clear my head and more importantly, my heart.
- You are so very beautiful. And the fact that I helped make something like this is a frightening honor.
We have grown together and found our rhythm since that moment you looked at me, widened your lips, showed off your gums. And there are so many things about you that take me by surprise. You are so strong. I mean a real ball buster, figuratively and literally. You are VERY happy but in an instant you can get pissed and read me the riot act. You want me constantly now. And although I chalk it up to wanting your afternoon snack, I know it’s something different because of the way you look at me. You rely on me even though you probably hate admitting that fact. You are independent, walking, talking, playing with the pups and your toys and practically sighing with frustration if I want to join in, too. You are so lovable. I will admit, you’re not a hugger but there are many special times you’ve come up to me just to hug and rest your head on my shoulder. I appreciate that and I appreciate you.
I think of the person you’re going to become, but don’t worry, I don’t think too hard. I want you to own your future and for me to simply be the soft hand guiding you along the way. I kid that you will be anything and everything under the sun, but know whatever you choose I’ll be there cheering and loving you along the way.
Thank you, Ava, for giving me three years. Three years we’ve spent together. More than a thousand days that have forced me to grow up, to strengthen my spine and to learn for the first time what it means to live for something other than myself.
You deserve all the happiness in the world and I will do my best to make sure you have it.
I love you,
Mommy
I wrote this post for an old blog awhile ago but every word in it remains true. I’ve even revised it a bit because it’s like a constant thought, one that keeps fluctuating, changing but never ceasing to exist. I’m re-posting it in honor of Movember, a blogging movement to raise awareness for prostate cancer issues and male mental illness orchestrated by the magnificent™ Le Clown. This post has been republished to destigmatize the concept of depression from a parent’s point of view. I had a difficult time adjusting to motherhood, not because I didn’t love my daughter but because I thought I didn’t deserve her. Depression doesn’t always mean you stop loving and feeling. Sometimes it means you simply feel too much and need the support of everyone around you to trust yourself again.
Thank you to Le Clown and fellow blogging friends for keeping this movement going.
Ericka,
This was incredibly touching. I would like to share this today on our Facebook page, and I have a few other ideas. Could you please write me at clownonfire at gmail dot com?
Thank you,
Le Clown
Thank you Le Clown. Sent you an email!
So articulate. Those weeks, months before real bonding…I know them well. Oh, the lies we’re told about it all being natural and magic. Brave post. Thank you.
You’re very welcome. It’s always hard to swallow the “love at first sight” pill considering for me, love is an act, a build up of responses and not an emotion that simply washes over me. As I told another commenter, I just had to be okay with understanding this and knowing it wasn’t wrong as long as I was willing to keep going.
Oh man… you ladies just reminded me of my first counselling session after I had my baby… I don’t think I will finish this sentence publicly.
It can certainly be rough. But it’s great you found someone to talk to. Sometimes that makes all the difference in the world.
This is really beautiful. I really wish there would have been a blog-o-sphere when my children were small. Maybe I would have seen something like this, and not felt so terribly alone. Thank you for this.
You’re very welcome. And that’s what I love about blogging. especially the WordPress community. I’ve found so many sites and bloggers that focus on their anxiety/depression and it makes me feel a lot more okay with myself. It’s nice.
It is very nice! Even finding this place a couple of years ago may have helped. I almost let my new husband slip through my fingers because I thought I wasn’t good enough for him and that he deserved better. How cruel our minds can be to us when they aren’t healthy. Oh crap, just typing that made me start crying. Cheeky Diva doesn’t cry!!!– Ahem–Ok, gotta go tweet about Pop Tarts or something and get my dork on.
Poptarts are a cure all! Go forth and tweet!
I’m having a boatload of fun with the hashtag game right now. #madeupprequels. These folks on twitter sure are silly, aren’t they?
Did I tell you I tried it the other day? It’s fun, but I think I need practice!
Oh me too. It’s a great place for a short silly thing that doesn’t seem to fit anywhere else. I have become a twit-well, that’s really been true for the last 40 years or so.
A beautiful and honest post! I think a lot of women will be able to relate. Good for you for being so honest. I had postpartum depression after my second daughter. It took a long time to bond. Saying it was a very difficult time is a serious understatement. I agree with saradraws about ‘the lies we’re told’. I curse all those stupid ‘perfect parenting books’!!! I read them all and couldn’t live up to any of them. It’s very liberating when you finally realize you don’t need to.
Oh man I didn’t even crack one open because I was scared to read everything I was doing wrong! And you’re right about feeling liberated. Whenever you can finally admit to yourself that you’re okay exactly the way you are, it’s like the whole world opens up for you.
Wow. Such an honest post. Thanks for the real read and supporting Movember.
Of course Becca, and thanks for helping out Le Clown with it! It’s a really great movement and I’m happy to be a part of it.
Brilliant. Speechless am I.
Oh wow, thank you!
Beautiful. It’s so good to know that others didn’t immediately fall in love with their children. I remember month three, being thrilled at that smile, that first real smile. Thanks.
You’re very welcome. It’s hard when all we hear is about instant bonding and love at first sight. I was mesmerized by her at first sight, awed even, but love for me is an action and not so much an instant emotion. I just had to realize that’s okay, too.
Beautifully written. Thank you for sharing.
You’re very welcome and thank you for reading.
This was so beautiful and I am SO crying. So much said here about depression and motherhood, the two intertwined, the two separate. Wow. Thank you for your honesty and reality. I too have always been of the camp of this statement: ‘You are mine but you are NOT me. I don’t play to this theory that because I had you, you represent me in every way, shape and form. Instead, I think of you as an individual. You are not responsible for me or for my happiness. You are one hundred percent responsible for your life, your happiness’ – I too often get ‘whateverlady’ replies!! You are brave to tell us all this, that motherhood sometimes ain’t all the magical shit we’re taught it to be. Bravo.
What you have written here is so important. So very, very important. I am a lucky girl (maybe?) that fell in to the love at first sight camp with her kids and I always felt like I was doing the world a disservice by speaking my truth because it perpetuates a myth that all women feel this way. I will be sharing with my tribe of women and mothers. Good stuff.
Thank you, Kelly! And never stop speaking your truth. I think it’s beautiful you had an instant connection with your children that should never be frowned upon for a million years. In fact, it should be celebrated you should never feel bad about celebrating it. I love hearing that from friends and others who speak it with honesty. But I sometimes think there are other people who turn being a mother into a game and one of the “rules” to that game is having an instant connection with your kiddo and looking fabulous in your post partum picture (I, for one, did not!). I think it’s great you’ve had your experience but can still understand and appreciate mine. Thank you so much for sharing this!
Babies are so interesting. It’s interesting that people think you can just go “Bing, I’m a mom now. Ta-da.” It takes TIME to rearrange your whole life, who you are, your priorities. Took time to grow that baby, it’ll take time to change your brain around it. My husband wanted me, after my son (second baby, first boy) was born to not just say, “Ow.” but “Oh, it was so worth it.” Yes, he was worth it. There’s a picture of me, not rejoicing in my son immediately, but holding him with a half-grin through exhaustion and relief, and another of me kind of checking him out as he lay in his bassinette. For some people, it’s flicking a switch, and for many other of us, who are unsure of what that kid’s name really is, who are unsure of where the mom is and when she’ll show up, she shows up eventually, right inside of us.
“…and for many other of us, who are unsure of what that kid’s name really is, who are unsure of where the mom is and when she’ll show up, she shows up eventually, right inside of us.” Beautifully put, Kim. I think the real key is in understanding and appreciating that it’s a legitimate process for every mother no matter how it comes about!
Ericka, this was such a transparent account of being a first time mother. It resonated with me on many levels. The “frightening honor” line sums up it best for me. There were times, when my daughter was just a newborn, that I would ask my husband if I was actually responsible for this little life while he was at work? I never wanted to be alone. I was scared. The honor was too overwhelming.
Thank you for the being the mouthpiece on this delicate, and often, overlooked issue.
It is overwhelming isn’t, it? I kept on thinking “they’re really going to let me take this home? Me, the girl who loses her keys on rotation and once thought she was stranded and out of gas but that was only because she hadn’t turned the car on yet??”
And you’re very welcome. Thank you so much for reading!
Too bad I could only hit “like” once. Beautiful post. Thanks for this.
Thank you so much for reading!
Beautiful. Colorful. Brave. You make the world a better place by sharing this. For many people, not just mothers. Thank you.
Thanks, Tae. I have to say that means a lot coming from you because I’ve read your blog and it certainly resonated with me. The way you get to the real core of situations is really refreshing and interesting to read. Thank you for taking the time to read this!
I loved this post and your words here “Depression doesn’t always mean you stop loving and feeling. Sometimes it means you simply feel too much and need the support of everyone around you to trust yourself again,” are so true.
Thank you so much for reading and I’m glad the post is resonating. Sometimes it’s difficult to put something like this out there, unsure of the response. But it’s good to have support
I loved this. Because it’s true. God, I wish I had this blogging thing when my kid was little. Maybe I wouldn’t have so often felt like I was the only one who wasn’t a Stepford Mom.
If it weren’t for the online community I’ve found, it would be a hard feat indeed so I feel you! But our kids will be grateful we’re not Stepfords anyhow. I don’t ever recall a kid ever loving their mother because she always wore make up and pearls!
All I could think about after giving birth was “Please feed me.” Seriously. Followed by, “What the fuck is taking so long? Does the sewing always take this long?” (Two full hours, and no.). Gah. There is nothing magical about childbirth.
I was incredibly lucky that my firstborn was an unusually “good” baby, since at the time I had few supports. Of course, later on we found out there was a reason he could stare at the wall for hours on end without crying. And then even the memory was marred. I’m sure I would have been crushed, but by then we already had our second and there was barely enough time in the day to mourn. Being a mom is life-changing, but anyone who says it’s all roses… should probably go into politics and lie for a living.
It’s so much harder than you think it will be, in a great way, in a sad way, in a terrorizing way. It’s hard when our children are facing battles and we have to realize we’re the ones that have to buck up and guide them through it even when we feel like crumbling. When Ava was two she had a benign tumor in her ear that we didn’t know was benign until after her surgery. They gave her the sleepy juice before rolling her in for surgery and even though we were doing everything we could to be upbeat and positive for her, she just sat there, shook her head and said “Poor Ava. Poor, poor Ava.” My heart stopped. Pulling through and going forward sometimes are the hardest things in the world.
And I totally agree, politics would be perfect for them!
Your little girl is gorgeous. Blog following has worked, hopefully and I will now go catch up on your hilariousness. This post is wonderful. I didn’t have any love at first sight with my kids either and I did spend a year in the basement when they were little. No, that’s not depression, I’m fine!
Well said (written, whatevs)
Thank you Maggie. We’re never told about the adjustment that comes with having kids and even if you’re warned, you’re never really prepared.
I have recently realized that I probably have a bonding/attachment disorder in conjunction with my life-long depression that contributed to so much damage and brokenness in my relationships with my adult children. I forced myself to let my youngest, who will be four in December, nurse until a year ago because I felt the constant urge to physically push her away from me and I never want her to doubt my love and emotional attachment to her the way her siblings do. I finally feel, almost, natural with her – maybe 60% of the time. Depression and anxiety, when you’re a parent, can suck as much or more for your children as it does for you. Thank you for writing this.
Be well,
Kina
“Depression and anxiety, when you’re a parent, can suck as much or more for your children as it does for you. ” So very true. It can make you feel like a failure which plays with your head even more. It’s been really nice to know that there are other women out there that can relate. It’s nice not being so alone in this. My thoughts are with your, too, and I stopped by your blog. I really respect the premise and know a lot of people will find hope in it.
Thank you
Reblogged this on It's Tea Time, with Stella Martini and commented:
Pretend that I had a real mother, these are just some of things I would want her to say to me…
I love this… and your perspective on motherhood
Thank you, Jenni!
Great post. I’m really glad Le Clown led me to your blog. I’ve been laughing myself silly, but this one really hit home for me. I mean, in my head I’m still 22. I’m supposed to be tear-assing down country roads in my little sports car and getting wasted while playing drums on the weekends. When the hell did I become a 35-year-old father who’s main ambition is to have 20 minutes of peace and quiet so that I can do a little sketching? For all the pitfalls though, it’s worth it. Thanks for giving me a little perspective
You’re very welcome. Our children teach us a lot more about ourselves than we’d ever think to. They’re pretty amazing that way.