Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

My brain is broken.

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Any bookish types out there? If so, help!⁣

Off and on, and throughout the course of much of my life, I have gone through periods of heavy reading and then NOTHING.⁣

During the year and half prior to giving birth to my daughter I was averaging about two books a week. How many have I fished since she was born? Not a ONE.⁣

It’s not because of lack of sleep (she lets me sleep quite well — for now, at least). It’s not because I don’t have time (if I committed the same amount of effort to it as I do looking at irrelevant meaninglessness on my phone, I’d be golden).⁣

And it’s not because I don’t have anything I want to read, either. There are books by the hundreds on my “to-read” list. Gorgeous, fantasy books with intricate storytelling, fascinating world building, and strong, female protagonists.⁣

But, my brain keeps insisting on being this fried, dumb thing that refuses to cooperate. I’ll load GOOD books on my Kobo, attempt to dive in and am only able to read about a page before my attention wanders. Snap back, I try again. Over and over. Eventually, out of annoyance and frustration, I give up. My ability to focus is G.O.N.E. This is all similar to how it’s been in the past when I’ve gone through others of these “no-read” periods.⁣

I gave birth five months ago and I should give myself more time maybe, I hear you. But, I’d really like it to change sooner rather than later. ⁣Reading became this huge part of me, more so than ever before, and now it kind of feels as if I’ve lost a limb. It’s also the one, guaranteed thing I can get lost in during COVID when I need to pretend everything is normal… :(⁣

So, how do I fix this? Do I need a different approach? Should I work to better understand (somehow?) why I go through these no-reading phases? Should I consider a different mindset? Different books? A different life? lol.⁣

Help!

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Milestones & Genetics, Motherhood, Respectful Parenting, The magic (in the mess). ♡

She’s got this.

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A milestone happened in our house on Tuesday night. M rolled over for the first time! ⁣
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All babies eventually turn over, and milestones are meaningful for every single one of them. I get that. This moment holds something more to me, though.⁣
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O has had gross and fine motor delays for much of his life, starting from when he was very young. PT and OT have been a part of his journey (and mine — there have been many, many, many appointments). On paper, he’s still quite a bit “behind” for his age based on what other kids of a similar age can “typically” do. In time, he’ll get there.⁣
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I have long felt mom guilt over his delays, however. Many a time I have wondered if my well intentioned parenting choices caused them. We didn’t really do tummy time as I didn’t believe in pushing him to be in positions he couldn’t get into himself. I let him be the lead, and I continue to do so to this day. Eventually, we found out he had low muscle tone, and that it was likely the culprit.⁣
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But, despite knowing that, my anxiety doesn’t let me hear it.⁣
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I don’t want that same journey for M. I don’t want those same struggles. So, I keep doing with her all that I hardly did with O… as if in some kind of hail mary attempt to avoid it. But, as hard as I try (and try do I ever), her tolerance for it is achingly minimal. Many a day she makes it happily on her tummy for less minutes that I can count on one hand.⁣
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This, of course, has lead my worries to be convinced we are again on the same trajectory.⁣
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And then on Tuesday she just rolled over out of the blue, as if it was the world telling me to calm the hell down.⁣
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I hear you, world. I hear you.⁣
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She’s got this.⁣
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Happy five months, sweet girl. 💚⁣ ⁣

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[Featured], Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Thank you, easier.

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It’s easier this time, this maternity leave. It’s easier because, well, she’s easier. And yet, it’s so much more than that.⁣
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It’s easier because “I know” now the knowledge that first time motherhood denies of you. It’s easier because second children are blessedly unfair in the understandings they afford; understandings that your first (be it you or them) would have never dared relent.⁣
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It’s easier because I’m here, but FULLY here. I’ve stopped listening to the bullshit of everything outside of this, of us, and am embracing a motherly instinct and intuition. Pieces of me that I feel I only just met, but have known all along.⁣
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(And for reasons I won’t elaborate on, out of not wanting this to be about it, and my hurts, it is remarkably easier because my mother is purposefully no longer in our lives.)⁣
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In strange, unexplainable, and starkly tangible ways, it’s easier because of what our world has come to in the grips of this pandemic. The pressure to take the “new baby” out to socialize and to be there for happenings (despite my every inner voice of anxiety screaming in consternation and uncertainty) — it is blissfully absent. Weeks on end we stay at home, only ever leaving for long walks or to pick up O in the afternoons, and it is a peaceful balm to the introversion rooted deeply in my soul. These things didn’t require a pandemic to occur, but they are things I only (and finally) allowed of myself *because* of the pandemic.⁣
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It’s easier because of time. Mothering through anxiety for five years has left me with a hardened knowing. This knowing is not here anymore to impress, or to give a damn about what’s being thought of who she is as a mother. This knowing savours honesty, embraces the mess of it all, and respects and believes in the journey EXACTLY as it is.⁣
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And, let’s be real, it’s easier because of the meds.⁣
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Thank you, easier.⁣
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💚⁣ ⁣

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[Featured], Mental Health, Motherhood, Postpartum, The magic (in the mess). ♡

I promise.

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Dear me,⁣
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I’m sitting here on our phone looking back at pictures you took. It’s January, 2016. You have just recently become a mom for the first time, and are six weeks postpartum.⁣
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The majority of the pictures are of the babe your body created. You aren’t in many, and in those that you are, there is a purposeful effort on your behalf for the photo’s focus to be on anything else but you.⁣
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But, I look to you anyways. Your face. Your hair. Your eyes. The layers that tell a story. Faint smiles, tangled curls in sloppy buns, dark circles and sleepy squints, a breast milk stained cardigan on it’s sixth day of wear. The story of a woman trying. Trying and tired, trying and unsure, trying and afraid.⁣
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Ah, all that what would come in those months ahead. The countless hours of colic, the incredibly little, little sleep, the exasperation at the useless futility of everything you tried, the heart pounding anxiety at anything “gone wrong” that would envelope you in a bundle of trauma. The culmination of it all breaking you. Chasms laid wide, intrusive thoughts hungrily consuming the darkness now bare. An unspoken guilt that consumed you, perpetuating and furthering the cycle. Rinse, repeat, remorse and regret.⁣
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It will be okay, I whisper to you. Gently placing my finger on your shoulder on the screen, as if it could be a hug that transcends time and instils in you the hope you didn’t have. You WILL overcome. The colic goes away, eventually. He sleeps, eventually. You get help from doctors, finally. It starts to work. The pieces come together. You find what he needs. You find what you need. Together, you thrive.⁣
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You’re even crazy enough in five years to do it all over again, mental health reckonings and all. But, we figure it out that time sooner. ⁣She actually sleeps. She’s happier. She’s easier.⁣
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Right now, though.⁣
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It feels like you can’t breath.⁣
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I know. I hear you.⁣
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But, you will.⁣
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We will.⁣
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I promise.

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Motherhood, The magic (in the mess). ♡

Asking the REAL questions.

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Here are the questions I asked myself as I attempted to make sense of this gong show of a board book collection:

  • Why do we own this many board books? W H Y?⁣
  • You know you can’t even fit all the ones we own on this shelf and you should probably stop buying them, yeah?⁣
  • Where the hell is our Gruffalo book?! I guess I’ll have to get another. ⁣
  • You know what makes for great photos, Sarah? A black bookshelf in a hallway that has dungeness lighting AND it’s a dark + dreary night. Bravo. ⁣
  • E-readers are so much easier to sort. How old can O be before he starts using one?⁣
  • Wait. No. Never. I have to have a reason to keep buying him and M pretty books for all of eternity. RIGHT?!⁣
  • None of how you’re organizing this makes sense, I hope you know. Do you?⁣
  • Why do we still own Rainbow Fish? Donate that nonsense.⁣
  • You didn’t buy “such and such” when you were out thrifting last. Why? Next time, next time. ⁣
  • WHYYYY DOES NOTHING FIT LIKE I WANT IT TOOOOOO?⁣
  • Have you ever heard of a damn library, woman?!⁣

I am a mess. No lie.

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