On this, my first Mother's Day as an honoree, I feel more worn out than celebrated. After two and a half weeks of getting relatively "good" sleep at night, Emme woke me up every hour last night, nursed for 5 minutes and then fell back asleep. Even stripping her down to her diaper, turning up the ceiliing fan and watching the George Lopez show especially loud (hey, it's all that's on at 3am) wouldn't rouse her. So I would set her down, and by this time the dogs were awake and wanting to go outside. So I would let those two sillies out in the backyard, drink a glass of water and head back up to bed. By this time, I had to pee. So, I would do that and brush my teeth, or hair, or put on more deodorant, or do something else productive since I was in the bathroom anyway. Then, I would lie down, only to be awakened 20 minutes later by my very loud screaming baby. She would frantically search for her food source (trying to be discreet here), crying her little heart until I could calm her enough to find what she was looking for. A few George Lopez punchlines and commercials later, she was passed out again. By about 5am, I had given up sleeping. Even my new friends, the Lopez's, were off for the night. Now it was time for the infomercials on losing weight (which of course, is on my mind lately) and dandy kitchen gadgets. I was very tired, and very cranky. How could I get her on a schedule that worked for both of us??
But then something happened this morning. I managed to doze off around 7am, and was awaken at 9am by blood-curdling screams (you would think she was a two-year-old, not a two-week-old). I rushed her downstairs to warm a bottle (one of my new attempts -- bottles during the day, and nursing at night to differentiate between the two time frames) and tried to talk to my roommate for a few moments before she headed off to work. I was holding Emme in one arm, warming the bottle in the other, trying not to trip over sleeping cats and dogs sprawled across the kitchen floor, and shouting small talk to my roommate. I looked awful, and frantic. I looked like a first-time Mommy.
And when we finally got her bottle going smoothly, I looked down at my red-faced daughter and her eyes were focused on my face. I don't even know how much she can actually see yet (behind on my developmental reading), but it looked like she was looking me right in the eyes, saying "thank you" with her hungry stare. That one tiny look made me realize that I truly am officially a Mom. Not a cute pregnant girl with glowing skin, and a chestful of hopes and dreams. Not a matyr who just went through labor and needs flowers, gifts, cards and meals to recover. But a messy, smelly, tired Mom who is still learning the most efficient, and best, way to take care of my child. And that made me proud, and thankful that I have been given this time off work to get to know my baby and lose some sleep.
Next Mother's Day she will likely be walking, and maybe even talking a little bit. We will be done nursing, and she will be even doing some things for herself. And while I will be proud of those accomplishments, I don't want to take the time I have now for granted. This is the first, and could be last, time that I will have a newborn and be a first-time Mom.
I've since had a shower, and put on actual clothes (not pajama pants), and am feeling much better. She is napping peacefully -- without a care in the world.
Happy Mother's Day -- if you are one, I have new respect for you! If your own Mom is around, squeeze her extra tight for those late-nights that she sat up with you, watching Nick at Nite, or late-night talk shows. She deserves it.
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