Six truths about early motherhood (that took me by surprise)

In the spirit of my previous “Six truths” post, I thought I’d do a follow-up regarding the first six week of Ethan’s life on the outside!

1. I sleep. Kind of.

This is probably the one that surprised me the most.  I was fully expecting to be one of those zombified new parents who couldn’t form a coherent sentence and whose home was in shambles and who looked like death. While I do have my days, it’s way better than I was anticipating. Now, I know that’s partly because I’ve had some help and partly because Ethan is a decent sleeper (knock on wood), but I can’t help but think that my fears were exaggerated and a bit unfounded. All new parents must get some sleep, otherwise we’d all be hospitalized at least twice before the kid hit two months.

I know there are parents out there who really aren’t sleeping, and those who are barely getting by on two hours a night, so please don’t think I’m ignorant of that. Like I said, we’ve had our days/nights. When I imply that I am getting enough sleep, what I really mean is that I am getting enough to function, plus the occasional nap when the stars align just right. I’m definitely not getting enough consecutive sleep – before long, I think Ethan may need to have a sleepover at Gigi’s house so that Mommy and Daddy can get a night of uninterrupted rest. In the meantime, though, we’re handling things fairly well considering what challenges we are facing regarding the amount and frequency of sleep we are getting. So far, so good.

2. I don’t mind sharing.

I really thought I’d be the mom who never even wanted to hand her baby over for a ten-minute snuggle with a relative, but right from the start I have been comfortable sharing Ethan with others. At first I was afraid that this meant I was a bad mother or that we weren’t connecting properly, but then I realized that it was a good thing. It means I’ve accepted the fact that I can’t hold him 24/7 and that I need a break now and then. Not that I didn’t cry my eyes out for half the night when he slept over at my mom’s, because of course I did. And I downed almost an entire bottle of wine trying to calm my nerves (and to make it impossible for me to drive over there at 3:00 AM and take him back). But I had no issue with leaving him for a date night, and I’ve never gotten antsy about letting others spend time with him.

3. I love co-sleeping…sometimes.

I love Adam and I love sharing a bed with him. He’s warm and snuggly and doesn’t mind when I pass out in a way that means I take up half the bed, and that’s because he’s awesome.

That said, Adam has had to work until about 2:00 AM for a few nights since Ethan was born. On those nights, I’ve locked Percy out of the bedroom, prepped a couple of bottles and put them on the nightstand, pulled the diaper pail over to my bedside, and set up a changing station at the foot of the bed. Then I proceeded to make up a space for Ethan and share the bed with him. And it was glorious. We had wonderful snuggle time and I never had to leave the bed to take care of him, which meant I was far more rested by morning than I likely would have been otherwise.

This surprises me because I’m not into co-sleeping as a practice (just personally. I don’t care what others do, and in fact, I think it can be a lovely thing. It just isn’t for me). I know every kid is different, but I once babysat a kid who co-slept with his parents for a couple of years, and trying to get him to go to sleep was a nightmare. I didn’t “breathe like Mommy”, so he freaked out a few times. Obviously, that’s not the case for most kids, but it stuck in my mind and totally turned me off to it as an option. Plus, I’m a little territorial and I like my bed to be my bed. So while I don’t plan to change my mind and suddenly become a co-sleeper, I’m definitely looking forward to the occasional slumber party while Daddy is working late.

4. I’m savvy.

I used to not be able to shop sales because it was too much of a headache to figure out. Now it’s a necessity. And it turns out that I’m pretty good at it. Not only am I savvy in the store, but I’m savvy with my kid. I’ve gotten good at figuring out what his different cries mean, new ways to comfort him when he’s upset, and other weirdo sixth sense Mommy stuff. It’s a little freaky, but it’s pretty cool.

5. I feel like Betty Draper, if she were a happy person.

“Were” a happy person? “Was”? I really should know this. English major fail. This is why I don’t have a degree, folks.

Anyway.

You know how, apart from all her schizo crazy desperate housewife stuff, Betty was always pretty fabulous? She always looked great, kept a spotless house, and cooked fabulous meals for her family? Well, I’m not saying that I actually do all of that, but I’m certainly trying. And what’s more, I’m enjoying it. I’ve already talked about my housewifery, so I won’t go into it much more. But I will say that I never really felt like that at all until Ethan was born. I used to have almost no interest in things like organizing the laundry and making sure the dishes are always current, but now it feels like second nature to me. I might be able to chalk it up to delayed nesting, but I’ll take it. The place looks a lot better than I used to be able to manage.

6. That mushy love stuff is true.

You know all that sappy, Hallmark-y stuff about how you figure out the meaning of life when you look into your baby’s face and your heart grows three sizes and the love you already had for your family just multiplies?

Yeah. It’s all true. I know it sounds sentimental (and it is), but it’s absolutely true. It actually hurts when I think about how much I love Ethan, and I just love looking at my little family and seeing how naturally we all come together. I’m not saying I’ve figured out the mysteries of the universe via motherhood or anything, but I feel like I might be coming a little closer.

About these ads

June Cleaver, I am not.

Okay, you know how earlier I was all like “I’m so awesome at housewifery! Statues of women in 1950′s dresses wielding vacuums and basting chickens should be erected in my honor! Pass me my apron and pardon me while I clean EVERYTHING!”?

Well, turns out that I’m not as good at it as I thought. It’s a bummer, but I guess it’s just what happens when you get cocky. Life smacks you across the face like a sassy lunch lady and is all like “Girl, don’t get so up on yourself.” And you know what I mean by “sassy lunch lady”. We all knew them and they were amazing. I seriously had a brief time in my life where I thought I could be very satisfied being a lunch lady as long as I was surrounded by the sassy ones.

Today, I found myself alone in my apartment with Ethan by 4:00 PM. Adam is working the closing shift, so he’ll be back around 1:00-2:00 AM. No biggie. I figured that I could handle everything on my own. I could easily tidy up the house, finish all the laundry, organize my new dresser (thanks, Brittany!), cook something for dinner and set some aside for Adam, bathe Ethan, and generally get things ready for tomorrow’s Meet the Baby party.

Silly girl.

I tidied everything but the kitchen, which I completely forgot existed until I attempted dinner. The laundry got all messed up because I set it to the wrong size load, so everything was completely soaked by the time I took it out of the washer. My dresser took two attempts because I somehow wound up with two underwear drawers and nowhere to put my pants. Dinner? A disaster. It ended up a very beige meal (Panko-coated spicy chicken and white rice with butter), and I am still figuring out this new oven, so the chicken took about twice as long to cook as I expected. Plus, all the while, Ethan was screaming like a maniac, so I had to keep running back and forth from the stove to the crib, trying to comfort my poor upset son while also trying not to entirely ruin dinner (more or less a fail on both fronts). Ethan’s bath was painful to me. He was so miserable from crying while I was cooking that he was inconsolable. No one ever told me how horrible it is when your baby actually makes eye contact with you while screaming. I cried right along with him. It was worse when he finally stopped and I gave him a kiss, which for some reason triggered a new screaming fit. Thanks, honey, my hormones needed that extra reason to go haywire.

The one thing that went according to plan was getting things ready for the party. We thought that, since we were going to be so busy with the new place, my recovery, and getting back into our usual work schedule, it would make sense to invite a few key people to meet Ethan all at once, rather than try and balance lots and lots of visitors over several weeks. I figured we’d buy a few bottles of champagne, set up a mimosa bar, set out some cookies, and have an open house-style party for a few hours so people can stop by and get baby snuggles. I have to give myself credit there – I planned the party on my own and I think it will be a fun day. Thank goodness. After the insanity that has been my evening, I am in desperate need of a win.

Off to refill the wine glass and make sure I didn’t leave any of the burners on in my madness. And then (hopefully), I will lie down and actually sleep, since last night I was just as psychotic as this (Stayed up until 2:30 cleaning and organizing, took a nap, and put in a load of laundry at 4:30 during one of Ethan’s feedings).

I’d be completely losing my mind at this point, but then Ethan makes this face and it’s all magically better:

He is either terrified of something just behind me or he is pooping. You decide.

I’m pretty good at housewifing, actually.

On this edition of “Things Caroline Never Thought She’d Say…”, we discuss the fact that I uttered the phrase “Wow, I make a pretty good housewife!” without a trace of irony.

I’m still reeling a little from this. Let’s just say that for the first 22 years of my life, I was that kid with the perpetually frightening bedroom. The type where you had to jump around piles of clothes and junk to get to the bed. I’m not proud of it, but that’s just how it was. When I moved in with Adam, I didn’t improve much. Sure, I would actually tidy up from time to time, but the fact that both of us were working two jobs and performing in various theatrical productions made it hard to keep a clean house. Things were never dirty, but they were certainly disorganized.

Now that we’re in this new apartment and have this new baby and I am on a new schedule, I find myself cleaning and organizing constantly. I imagine it’s a delayed nesting thing – since I wasn’t able to indulge due to us moving/me staying with relatives during my recovery – but still. This is weird for me. I actually enjoyed doing endless loads of laundry and organizing my shoes yesterday. I felt proud of the fact that I took the time to clean my stove and counters, even though they weren’t really all that messy. Don’t even get me started on how many times I high-fived myself after washing my sheets within a normal time frame.

Part of doing all this housework has to do with me trying to keep busy and awake during the day, since mine and Ethan’s sleep schedules are completely opposite of each other. Forget “sleep when the baby sleeps”. I just don’t have the ability. When he’s napping, I’m usually wide awake, so I take advantage of my energy and get stuff done. When he’s awake, I’m generally about ready to drop, so to keep myself alert, I put Ethan in the Moby (thanks to Sarah, I finally got the damn thing figured out) and do more cleaning. The result is that our place looks pretty great and is getting organized a lot faster than our old apartment ever did. When we moved out of the other place, there were still some boxes that had never been unpacked (and we lived there for almost two years. I know. I’m hiding my face in shame right now)! Here, all the boxes are not only unpacked, but things are slowly starting to be put where they belong.

I’m looking forward to when Ethan is a little more independent and doesn’t need to be held all the time, because then I’ll be able to get things done a lot faster. I found this blog a few months back and thought her 1950′s Housewife Experiment was hilarious…that chore list is a doozy. Looking at it, it seems like there’s no way a woman could do all of that on her own while caring for a newborn. In fact, the other day, I challenged myself to try and complete the list (to the best of my ability, anyway. Sorry, Adam, for not greeting you with a cocktail in hand, but I’m still a little unwilling to take a baby into an ABC store). I did pretty well, all things considered. The one thing that I was entirely unable to do was the cooking, which was, of course, the one thing I’ve been dying to do. We just haven’t had the time to do an inventory of our pantry, so we haven’t done legitimate grocery shopping in a while. I managed to slap together some stew in the crock pot, but something tells me that was cheating a bit.

I’m interested to see if I can actually complete that list once Ethan doesn’t need to be held so often. I mean, the Moby helps, but I’m not exactly going to fire up the stove with a baby and a fire hazard strapped to my torso. Not to mention that I still have to be careful about my C-section incision, so several of the heavier chores will have to wait just for the sake of, you know, not ripping myself in half. I may have to revisit it once I’m a little more recovered and see if I could have survived in the 1950′s. Although I’m not willing to give up my dishwasher just for the sake of experimentation. Hell no.