Motherhood has changed me, like so many mothers who have come before me would say. Change has come upon me in many ways, in both the simple and the profound. Something so simple like the way I sleep has forever been altered; I no longer take long sleeps but instead, sleep in fragmented blocks, to match the sleeping habits of my baby. This has bearing on how I spend the rest of my day, which impacts me on a deeper level because every moment I'm awake has a different significance now than before. I now try to get as much done in my waking hours and am thankful for each un-frazzled moment I have, simply because I don't know when my next peaceful moment will come.
All that being said, I'm slowly falling in love with being a mother. I had fallen in love with my baby early on, when I first held him by my side to nurse and he plaintively rooted for the breast. But it has taken me a while to fall in love with motherhood, with all its weird hours, bleeding nipples, and diaper changes.
My baby is 7 weeks old today. I fear that he will grow out of his babyhood before I even realise it. At just 7 weeks, I'm already feeling the passage of time, and I'm starting to re-think what is truly important to me. I used to be unable to see myself staying at home to raise my children; I'd always fancied myself as a go-getter who derived satisfaction from working and being engaged meaningfully at my job. These mere 7 weeks at home with my baby has made me reconsider this. I've spent so many sleepless nights (which is no mean feat, considering that downtime is so precious to me now!) thinking about my future, and I seem to keep coming back to the same door...
Ever since I had my baby, I haven't been able to put myself back in my old shoes. I now cannot understand why I would ever have a child, only to have another raise him. I can't imagine I used to think it was okay. My children are for me to raise. No, I admit, it's probably not all altruistic. Yes, of course I want the best for my children. But a large part of me wants to raise my children the way I want to raise them. I don't want to be a weekend mother. Of course I realise that many mothers have no choice, they have to work to contribute to the household income, so they do not have the luxury of caring for their children full-time. I do not purport to be able to leave my job without having to think twice or even ten times before handing in that resignation letter, just so I can care for my son. I am thinking, thinking very hard. And will be.
Last night, my precious son almost slept through the night. After nursing him at 8.30pm, he finally fell asleep at 10pm and slept right till 3.30am. That's a good 7 hours between feeds, which I am mighty pleased about. With that, I had actually managed to sleep for 4 hours last night - my first stretch of sleep longer than 3 hours since I gave birth to my son 7 weeks ago. I nursed him back to sleep and he was back in bed at 4.30am, only waking again at 7.30am for his next feed. All too soon, he may be sleeping through the night, a small sign that he is slowly but surely growing up. Before I realise it, he won't need to nurse anymore. I never thought I'd be sad when that day arrives, given my initial battle with breastfeeding. But now that nursing is getting better, largely because my son's mouth is growing bigger so he can latch better, I am starting to somewhat enjoy it. I love that I can nurse my son to sleep, that he can turn to me for the most comforting thing he wants at this point in his life. One day, he won't want to nurse anymore, and I think I may be really sad when that day finally comes.
He's had his first couple of growth spurts and I'm crossing my fingers he's done with his 6 week one. But I do know that with every spurt he goes through, he grows and becomes less and less my newborn son and more and more towards toddler-hood. I still remember him when he was a few hours old, I don't think I'll ever forget that to my dying day. I look at photographs of him when he was just a few days old and I'm cast right back to those moments, in a precious, exhausting haze. He has come so far since then, and although I'm happy for each day he grows with God's grace and my milk, I look back to his first few days of life with wistfulness. If I could relive those hours all over again, I would, if only to reset the clock and have more time with my precious little baby. Every day that passes, every minute that goes by, is time that slips through my hands, propelling me on the trajectory of mortality and the day when I have to let him go for good.
Ahhh, I'm getting emotional just writing this... :')
I've so much to say about motherhood, especially being a young, first time mom who doesn't yet have a place to call her own. But that's worthy of a post of its own, so I'll keep it for the next.
