Dear Noah - Week 20

Dear Noah,

This week you turned 20 weeks old and I still haven't figured you out.

You're a mystery to me. A complete and utter nonsensical little person that I wish so very much I could understand.

The constant guess work is starting to get to me. As are the constant questions and comments from concerned, yet clueless bystanders: "Do you think he hungry?"

Yeah, he's hungry, I'm just not in the mood to feed him right now.

"Maybe he's wet."

Uh huh, he's been in the same diaper since Tuesday, he must be a little damp by now.

"What's wrong with him?" (this has to be my favourite)

Do you think if I, his mother, knew what was wrong, that he would still be screaming his head off?

I'm tired sweetie.

Mommy's tired of smiling for you when I feel like crying because you've been up since 5 a.m. and haven't napped more than 30 minutes and you've done nothing but whine, cry and fuss for 3 hours straight.

Mommy's tired of worrying whether she's doing it right - anything right. Whether you're going to be forever scarred and have permanent sleeping issues because I can't get you to nap for longer than 45 minutes at a time. Because that ass, the author of the book from hell, Healthy Sleep Habits, Happy Child, has convinced me that you will develop insomnia, because I can't implement proper sleep training.

Mommy's tired of being tired. I feel like I've been tired for the last 5 months. I worry I will never remember what it's like to get a full, uninterrupted 8 hours of sleep again.

But then I remember those words, "this too shall pass."

Yes it will. It will pass by like the last five months, in a blink, a flash...

I barely remember what it was like to hold you when you weren't wiggling to be set free, when I was waking up every three hours like clockwork to feed you a 4-ounce bottle.

Although it was out of my control, I regret having postpartum depression, because looking at photos of your first month is painful. Although you were well taken care of, I felt as if I was in a fog, that none of the love I felt was getting through.

I clearly recall several nights feeding you, and putting you back into your cradle, where you would wail and cry almost instantly.

I'd get out of bed, rock you until you slept and again lay you back down. I would do this dozens of times a night, refusing to spoil you by bringing you into bed with me. How naive I was.

There were only handful of times I would lie you on my chest and let you sleep there, or put you between your dad and I in bed. I wish I'd done it more.

You're only 20 weeks old and already I have enough regrets to fill a novel and I know there will be many more to come.

Just know, with the regrets come learning - for us both - and with learning comes wisdom.

I am learning not to rush, to take my time enjoying the little moments with you. Moments of scraping more oatmeal off your face than what you're eating. Moments of laughter as we roll on the floor together.

I'm learning that being a mom is not meant to be fun 24/7. That I'm allowed to dislike parts of it and it's okay. It doesn't make a me a bad person or a bad mother.

Just know that no matter what mistakes I make, that I have done my best. I will always do my best to help you become your best.

Love,

Mommy

xo