Womb to Bloom - Maternity & Beyond

Babies are such a miracle. I love the way their newborn voices sound. Every cry seems like an immense struggle to vocalize. They are so tiny. They feel so fragile in those first few weeks, and we cradle them so carefully when we hold them. And yet, their strength amazes me as well. The first time my son wrapped his tiny hand around my finger, I marveled at how strong his grip felt. I laughed when he kicked himself out of the swaddling, despite our nurse's every attempt to keep him covered.

Already, I found myself attached to him. My entire being was fine-tuned to his every cry. I was soon able to distinguish between the wet diaper and the hungry cry, the tired cry and the gas bubble cry. My whole life now revolved around meeting his needs, and trying to fill my own needs in between.

From birth, it seemed my baby could sense me. He didn't mind being held by others, but if he heard me, he would make it known that he was not happy to be separated from me. Whenever this would happen, I would smile sheepishly. He was already such a mama's boy, and I loved every minute of it.

As he grew older though, I began to notice a pattern. Technically it's called separation anxiety, and generally it becomes apparent as early as six months of age, and can become severe between twelve to eighteen months age. In babies. However, the separation anxiety we were experiencing was on my part. I hated to leave him with anyone. Not even my husband. I would rather all three of us go shopping together than leave the baby at home with Daddy. Not because I didn't trust him. I just couldn't bear to be apart. The older my son got, the more difficult it became to leave him.

If my husband could tear me away, such as for church or a dinner date, I was a nervous wreck. On Sundays, I would excuse myself from the sermon so I could sneak past the nursery and peek in on him. On a dinner date, I would have to call several times to check in, often cutting our dinner short. He was such a colicky baby. It really didn't matter to him if I was holding him or if it was a complete stranger. It mattered to me. I worried constantly about him, enough so that I never truly enjoyed myself when I did get away.

Then one weekend, I went away for a women's church retreat. Overnight. I was a complete basket case. Since the retreat included a few seminars, it was difficult to sneak out to check on the baby too often. I spent a fretful night worrying about the baby and my husband. The next morning was bright and beautiful. It was difficult to feel stressed out when I was surrounded by so many other supportive women in such a beautiful and peaceful setting. In the end I found that I really had enjoyed the retreat. I went home that weekend determined to put my anxiety behind me and to try to enjoy a little bit of time away from my baby once a week.

In time, it got easier. I still had the urge to check up on the baby when he was with someone, but I wanted his “sitter” to know that I trusted them with my baby, be it Grandma, Aunt Jen, or my husband. So, even if my baby acts like 'only Mommy will do,' I know that both he and I will be ok.