Feeling Nostalgic

Now that it's almost baby time again, I went and dug up some old entries I had written about Isabella, here they are...

Friday, February 02, 2007

wishing it away
When I first brought my baby girl home, exactly one year ago, I was in shock. I'll be honest, for the first couple of months I was really concerned that I would not be able to do it. I wanted a baby so much, I dreamed of nursery colors and tiny socks and shoes. I painted murals on the wall and read books about nursing, sleeping patterns, stages of development. I knew babies were hard work, I knew there would be sleepless nights. I learned quickly that nothing you read or hear could possibly prepare you for becoming a parent.

I think Isabella was about 4 weeks old when I had my first break down. I was pushing her stroller through a park, frantic. I was convinced I had given birth to the enemy. I had brought a child into this world that was tougher and stronger and more stubborn than me. I had met my match. She only weighed 11 lbs, but she could take me down in a second. In fact she had taken me down. I was sleep-deprived, hormonal, recovering from surgery, isolated, but worst of all…resentful.

Luckily, my mother, who has the intuition of a bloodhound, picked up on this right away. She talked a little sense into me after giving me the chance to vent my frustrations. She did what she had probably been dying to do from day one. Convinced me to throw all that touchy feely attachment parenting nonsense I had been reading out the window. Let her cry, don't rock her to sleep every time she goes to bed, give yourself a break. I thought if she cried for a second and I wasn't there to make it better immediately she would be scarred for life. That night, I put her in her crib at bedtime and I let her cry. I cried harder. I cried for her, for me, for the guilt I felt, for the fear I was hurting her. We both cried ourselves to sleep. I woke up the next morning, the first time as a mother to sunlight in the windows and the sound of birds chirping. Our very first time she slept through the night.

When she was little and helpless, I couldn't wait for her to grow up. I couldn't wait for her to roll over, crawl, stand, and walk. I longed to pack up those bottles and have her drinking from a cup. To eat table food and speak. I wasn't worried for a second about her growing up too fast because it was dragging on so slow. So much work for such a tiny little being that barely knows you're there.

This week I took her to get fitted for her first pair of shoes. She has to have support now that she has taken those first steps. She can do so much. She can drink from a cup and eat table food. She can chase the dogs and wave bye-bye. She goes to daycare where she has her own friends and sits in a real chair at a real table. She's one year old. She's where I've been wishing she would be. She's such a big girl.

You can guess where this is going. I want it back. I want that tiny little baby in my arms. I want to fall asleep in a rocking chair with her in my arms. I took for granted those quiet moments in the earliest hours of the morning when she and I were the only ones awake. I've gotten used to my life being about her. I used to look at other mothers who were so wrapped up in their children and think of it as a sign of weakness. Now I know the truth. Nothing comes easier or harder than the love of a mother for her child. She turned one yesterday. Never again will I wish it away.