Failing at Post Partum Motherhood

So, I’m not going to go on and on about how this one has been tougher than the first. BUT. I will provide some background…

I had Prudence in graduate school, and had her naturally after a bazillion hours of labor (ok, 40) and then turned around and went back to school after two weeks. It was freaking hard. I worked 20 hours a week and only went to one class, and my husband took care of her while I was doing that, working on the weekends. That summer, I figured out I never wanted to participate in my old career that I had cobbled together with my precious twenties ever again…but that’s another post.

Scarlett is awesome. Brith was 5 star….5 STAR. Five hours of contractions to jazz fusion and popped her out in a tub and had pizza after. The only reason I was sleepless was the fact that I was so jacked up on adrenaline that I COULDN’T sleep. Too excited to hang out with little one, and also freaked out that it took her so long to breathe (newborns are reptilian like that).

So.

Back to Life, Back to Reality….daddy has to go to coding bootcamp, so I wound up holed up in my house (my choice) with my two young children and no sleep all by my lonesome since we just moved here. Every weekend we have together we make it to the grocery store, and that’s about it. I probably ugly cry at least three times a week, as my three year old no longer naps (although she needs it) and wants to play with me ALL THE TIME. Which I get. She is no longer the baby, that’s cool, but for the fact that this newborn sleeps 14-17 hours per day and 12 of them I have to make a three year old feel better about herself because of parental guilt is a little too much to ask, but fuck it, I feel bad and I love my kids, so I rationalize my lack of energy for sticking out being a good mom.(…guilt, guilt, guilt…)

I also am pretty damned good at keeping a clean house and cooking, thanks to my obsession with clean and having things in the right place all of the time, dog hair inclusive. It makes what little part of me that can be relaxed be relaxed, so I still am all over chores. Laundry is a daily phenom. So there’s this to consider. My husband, due to his ability to completely financially support all of us (?…not really, but again, that’s another post) has never….NEVER….had to get up in the middle of the night with this one. I spared him that, since he gets up and does shit during the day (…guilt, guilt, guilt…)

But, the real kicker is this breastfeeding thing. The first time, I was in school, work, so when 3 months comes and prolactin disappears, I shrug and say, well, let’s formula this kid up….with only the tres expensive organic shit. This time, I am way broker since I am not borrowing money from Uncle Sam for my living expenses and my Masters degree has not afforded me decent employment, I am all about nursing. I am attached to that baby as much as one person can be. Playing ponies with my three year old and nursing at the same time, pumping after feedings. I can count how many times on two hands I have been apart from my infant in the last 5 months, all with pumped breastmilk for her to enjoy while I am gone. 

…until that 4 month check up. Baby is underweight, time to supplement. 

What? Seriously? I did everything right. I drink 84 oz of water per day, I eat oatmeal every single day, I smelled like maple syrup, I am still a fat ass,  I ate my placenta, I DID EVERYTHING….and it still wasn’t cutting the mustard. 

Poor guy. It must have been written all over my face, as the doctor’s first reaction is ‘Please don’t take this personally! You are working really hard raising amazing children over here!’, nodding to my three year old sitting cross legged (!) in the extra chair in the office, talking about car trips. 

Yeah, right. Failing is more like it. I then get on Facebook (tip: don’t get on Facebook) and see postpartum moms at 2 months looking fabulous and going to the gym, and I’m tired as fuck at 5 months, still chubby, and haven’t been able…I repeat…BEEN ABLE…to meditate since the morning I gave birth without falling asleep while doing it. Face it, I SUCK AT THIS. 

AND, I have a job where I get paid to guide people on hikes in the offing MOUNTAINS and I AM STILL A FATTY. Working hard to pay the bills the best way I know how is about the only treat I can afford myself…but…

…nobody is working hard for me.

Ahem. That’s it. Nobody is working hard for me…least of all, myself. Note there’s no guilt about that one.

So, I absorb self-help literature at an alarming rate, philosophy too…so, I was offered a free kindle book from Hay House and I was all over it like white on rice. I had to do the old Louise Hay thing of looking in a mirror and saying I loved myself….like Stuart Smalley on 80s SNL. And it was just as funny for myself as it was to watch him do it. But, obviously I need to love myself, with all of the aforementioned reasons, so I give it a shot, what the hell. I had been doing it for a couple of days and it had been going great, until today.
All I could think of was the fact that there was so much that needed to be fixed.

My hair, which had been falling out at an alarming rate, has literally caused bald spots on my temples. I had to get a hair cut to amend it, but it still is fucking insane the AMOUNT lost. Needs to be fixed.

Still fat. Mentioned that one. Saggy tummy to boot, unlike my bikini bod 2 month postpartum Facebook friends. 

Can’t feed my kid. 

Can’t make my other kid feel better about everything.

My dog is all sad I don’t walk her as much as I used to. 

I need an array of material things that I can’t afford right now since I am not working full time.

Insert sad sack new momma thing here. It’s all what I can’t do. 

Look. I’m not superwoman. I don’t have any help, and it will have to do. I’m just tired and cranky and pissed off I have to keep showing up and nothing is getting easier, funner, so on and so on. 

But what I guess I can do is start taking it all back for myself. Easier fucking said than done, I get that, but I’ll be damned if I get stuck in sad bastard land. But y’all….I’m failing at this and it’s actually easier to accept failure and that I suck than this is all part of the journey of parenthood. But, this is all changing the course of direction for myself, which is fine.


Just….sigh. Hard.