So, parenthood? No one warns you.
At the moment, I’m sitting in total darkness in the nursery with a sleeping baby in my arms. She’s finally asleep, after hours of coaxing. It’s been a long, long, long day of crying and spit up and refusal to nap. I’m going on three hours of sleep and my arms are aching and shaky from endless hours of rocking and swinging. My eyes are swollen from crying and a bottle of wine is my salvation, propped ironically next to the baby bottle by my side.
I’d love to get up from this chair to shower, eat, ANYTHING…but I’ve learned from the past six hours that putting baby down means ear-piercing cries and another half hour of rocking. And repeat. I’m resigned to this uncomfortable yet peaceful solitude, and so appreciative of the silence.
In these tough hours I spend alone with Lila, I struggle to recognize that this will ever get easier. I live for the quiet snuggles and sweet baby coos that occasionally intersect with the wails. I’m completely aware of the miracle resting in my arms, and the blessing of a healthy baby. I am giddy when I think about the future with her and everything I want to teach her and show her. But right now? This is just one of many moments of learning, patience, struggling and growing.
I can get through this, and I will get through this. But it’s really hard. I’m thankful and in awe of every mom I know, especially my own, for walking this path before me.
I’m feeling somewhat defeated, but I know tomorrow is a new day, and that colic doesn’t last forever. (Please, PLEASE tell me it will end one day soon.)
Until that day, there is wine.