Womb to Bloom - Maternity & Beyond

It started before he was even born. His cute little toes. His tiny fingers wrapped tightly around mine. His long, beautiful eyelashes resting on his cheeks. The innate way needed me pulled me to him from the moment he was born.

When he nursed, I watched him with open adoration. When he slept, I watched him with a yearning anticipation. When I knew I should put him in bed, I didn't want to. When I tried to put him in bed, I simply couldn't. If I managed to put him in bed, I couldn't leave. I wanted every single waking moment to spent with him.

But even Mommies need rest – or should I say especially Mommies? Because the sleep we get between feedings, diaper changes and cuddling is not as restful as you would think! Even with a spouse, grandparents, and an older sibling to lend a helping hand, Mommy tended to do most of the work once our little guy came home.

I soon became aware of the vicious cycle we had somehow created. It seemed that the less sleep I got, the easier it was to upset me. The more upset I got, the fussier the baby would be. The fussier he got, the less I slept. Around and around and around we went.

Since I was nursing, and we had decided not to supplement my little angel's meals with formula, I began to feel trapped by his need for me. Sure I had adapted to nursing and changing him in the middle of the night in the dark, so it would be easier for the both of us to go right back to sleep, but he continued to need nursing (and changing!) almost every two hours on the button! The seemed to last far too long, and yet when morning came, I was still exhausted.

No one ever told me it would be like this! Sure I knew it was going to be hard, but no one said “Some days, you might forget to brush your hair.” Or, “Sometimes you might try to turn on the kitchen light, but it doesn't turn on because the light switch is on the other wall.” Or even, “You might forget how to take the cap off of a pen because you are in sleep limbo.”

I thought I had been as prepared for this baby thing as I could be, but not sleeping was something I couldn't seem to handle well. Everyone offers advice like, “Take a nap while the baby is sleeping.” When, then, would I find time to get a shower? That one thing (besides coffee!) that would help me feel normal and able to face my day?

Then they suggest, “Why don't you pump some extra milk and let your husband feed the baby at night?” How can I pump extra when he's already sucking me dry every two hours?

To me, it seemed an unending pattern of waking every few hours to nurse, and spending my days groggy and crabby. Yes! Crabby! I will admit it. I got crabby. Then I got weepy. It's not postpartum depression. It's just sleep deprivation. I finally began to believe that I would never get a good night's sleep, ever again.

Then it happened. One evening, I nursed the baby and we all went to bed. I dropped to sleep quickly, as usual. When I awoke to the sounds of my little guy demanding to be fed, I hustled to his side. Glancing at the bedroom clock, I actually gasped out loud. It couldn't be right. There was no possible way. I ran to the living to check the clock out there, but it read the same time. Six-oh-eight a.m. We had slept over seven hours straight!

I sat down in the rocking chair and nursed my baby. I watched him with teary eyes. Here was the reason I was waking up so often. This little guy, so tiny, so lovable, so hungry. That one night had given me a glimmer of hope. See? I thought to myself as I tucked my little one back into bed. This wasn't so bad. I can do this.

The next night, we got back to our once-every-two-hours schedule. Sure I was tired, but I had finally realized that it wouldn't be like this forever. Where there is one night of sleep, I knew others would follow.