I got spit up on this morning. I had just given Violet her morning bottle, and had her little belly pressed against my shoulder hoping for a good burp. As usual, it didn't seem like it was going to happen, so I started to pull her away when I heard it. And then I felt it. The warm dribble that trickled slowly down the front of my neck.
I paused for a moment and closed my eyes, wondering how bad the damage was, and how I was going to clean up without getting her more messy. Then I pulled her back to look at her face, and I was greeted with a mouth covered in spit up in the biggest smile I had seen all morning. She thinks it's hilarious. And probably felt better. I couldn't help but treasure the moment.
I'm crazy, right? Being so happy in a moment that would have made me cringe and gag before I had her. This little human being has me so wrapped around her tiny finger that I find everything she does - including vomiting on me - totally endearing.
I've wanted to be a mom for a long, long time. I knew I wanted to marry Chris from our first date, and from there the desire only grew. But here's the scary part. When I first had her - I wasn't sure I was cut out for this. I wasn't anywhere near postpartum depression, but I had A LOT of anxiety. If you look back to when I first started this blog, you'll see my transition from crazy-freaked-out-about-everything-mom to the now still-freaking-out-but-getting-through-it-fairly-calm-mom I am today.
A lot of this is probably the anti-depressant medication I started to help deal with my anxiety. It's a low dose, but it has helped me tremendously to have confidence in myself as a mother, and to start to enjoy my child. I'm not as vocal about it as I was about my struggles with breastfeeding or my fears about raising an infant, but I am not embarrassed. I needed help, and luckily, I had a good friend who finally convinced me to try it.
I had my reservations at first. I didn't want to be a robot, or stop caring completely. I talked with my doc about it, and he said they were valid concerns - but as with any medication, dosage is key. We would try the lowest dose, and see how I did. If I felt that I was getting a little too relaxed, we could even cut that in half.
I had to try it. Waking up every night at 2am while V slept soundly thinking about whether or not she's teething, or should I start solids, or what if she has asthma - was NOT working for me anymore. So about a month ago, I started my new pill.
I won't say it was magic - I felt the same for about 2 weeks before I started to notice a difference. I wasn't freaking out anymore. If she coughed or sniffled, or spit up or had a slight fever, I would deal with it and move on. I started to think realistically about how I would take action. If she's sick, she goes to the doctor. If she has a fever, she gets Tylenol. Instead of immediately going to the worst place (she's dying, I know it!!!), I was sensible and calm.
I started laughing more. I started sleeping soundly, and flirting with my husband, and looking forward to each day. I started missing her more at work.Yes, I always missed her a little, but now I can't wait to see her when I get home. I live for her giggles. I live for those moments when I feel spit up down my shirt and see that big ol' grin on her face.
I'm sharing this because I know a lot of people who are struggling right now with their own battles. It's not always motherhood related, and no, I am not suggesting we all start becoming a pill-popping nation and all get on anti-depressants. I'm saying it's OK to feel overwhelmed, and terrified that maybe you aren't as good at something that you always thought you would rock at.
Find your contentment in whatever you can. Mine happens to be in warm spit up down the front of my shirt. And I'm so happy I am free to feel that now.
Happy Wednesday everyone!
Love,
Dominique
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