Lonely Days

Being a new mom is a lonely sport. I have described it as feeling imprisoned, especially when your baby is exclusively breastfed. I know for sure, that bottle feeding has it’s challenges as well, but, as a mom (who is incredibly thankful that breastfeeding both of my children was easy), let me assure you—it was/is not actually easy. Here’s why: For nearly 35 years I did what I wanted, when I wanted, how I wanted, for however long I wanted. At almost 35 years old, I delivered the first of my two most precious treasures into this world. Literally, from that moment on, my life came to an abrupt halt, and the entire life I knew, the life I had built for myself, disappeared. My labor and delivery nursing job, the job that consumed anywhere from 40-60 hours per week of my life for 11 years straight disappeared, the friends that I so much enjoyed had to take a back burner, my husband became a second class citizen at home, and my family back in the US, little did I know at the time, would be cut off from me within months because of the pandemic. My gym membership became a poor financial decision, my love of baking fizzled to, well, nothing. My blow dryer and hair straightener got thrown to the back of the cabinet under the sink, and my makeup, well, that’s probably well expired and in need of a complete overhaul. I don’t even remember how to apply it.

My life became a 24 hour breastfeeding carousel. A carousel that lasted a year—one heck of a carnival ride. Right now, I’m six months into my second carousel ride with my sweet little Elise. I’m feeling not as imprisoned as I did with my son Isaac, probably because I knew what to expect, but the loneliness persists. Going out in the evenings is near impossible with a baby who could wake at any time needing to be fed, not to mention, the will power it would take to leave my house after 8pm after parenting a two year old and six month old all day. The three-nap-a-day schedule leaves me just moments to be able to complete day-to-day tasks. I praise my husband for being the cool, collected man he is, and so calmly dismissing my inner freak when she shows her ugly face. Do I apologize? Not really. My life has undergone such a radical transformation, I feel like I am entitled to my dramatic feelings. Gone is my job, social life, family, body, sleep, and hobbies. If I want to freak, let me freak—and he does. So thanks, Hun.

I know I will have a life again. I am in the midst of a handful of sleepless, selfless, all-consuming years, that somehow I am so honored and humbled to be part of. I am raising, nurturing, and forming an unimaginable relationship with two priceless people that God himself custom built, specifically for my husband and I. My goal each day is to enjoy all the moments with my two babies. I have had days that I wished would just end, but, at 37 years old, I realize how short life really is and how foolish it is to hurry along a gift we’ve been given that is already so short. One day I’ll look back at my “new mom loneliness” and wish I was lonely all over again.

Oh, hey! One second—my son just bonked his head.
Alright, I’m back. It seems like I can’t accomplish a single task these days without being interrupted by one of the two most important people in my life. If I was photographed at any given point in the day, you wouldn’t be able to see past the blur of my body because I am never in one place for what seems like more than mere seconds. With a lifestyle like this, you’d think I’d be a skinny little whip, but turns out, I’m just your normal, medium-sized, five foot three gal. Wait, did I just say normal? Well, what is normal, right? Most days I feel far from normal—I’m hoping other mamas and dads can relate.

Two years ago (or 27 months ago, in “mom age”), the most beautiful bundle of a boy blessed the lives of myself, my husband, and our families. He took what I already thought was a busy life and amplified it to a rollercoaster rate that left me sleepless, humbled, and overwhelmed, then drove in a colossal-sized, overflowing cup of love that I didn’t know could be experienced, consumed, felt, (insert whatever verb here), in such a finite lifetime.

Was I surprised? In one word, YES. I had spent 11 years of my life immersed in the world of labor and delivery, acting as “nurse” in countless deliveries of every type. I have seen and felt the emotions that come with the birth of a child, felt the joy, the stress, the relief, the heartache, the loss, and the innumerable other feelings that emerge from our labor and delivery rooms.

Despite all of my “experience”, this new life with children has left me a bit overwhelmed, but one thing I still have a good grasp on, is labor and delivery. It’s where it all starts. It is probably the most anticipated and feared part of most women’s lives: Birth. It will break you, empower, you, and complete you all at once. I hope to share some of my experiences with you, answer your questions, and help ease the anxieties of pregnant mamas out there who want some honest answers about how it all goes down in the L&D world. I have birthed two of my own babies, one with an epidural, and one with no analgesia, so I come at this, and I hope to answer your questions with no bias, and real honesty. We’re all in this together, and trust me when I tell you that it might look like all the other mamas and papas out there have it all together, but none of us really do. We all question ourselves, need help, and need sleep.

Join me as I share my experiences, and my sometimes oh-so-chaotic life from home. I will even share my baking “fails”, and toy infested home. What matters is so much more than living in perfection—it’s that the whole family is loved. What some people call “a mess”, I’ve chosen to call “confetti”. If there is confetti, a party likely preceded.