Three Months

Dear Bennett,

If you were a puppy I would have sold you weeks ago. In fact, I probably would have given you away for free. The ad on craigslist would have gone something like this, “Adorable puppy, free to a good home. I bit off more than I can chew and quickly discovered that I do not have the energy needed to give this puppy all the love and attention that he needs. I have no doubt that he can be trained, I just don’t think that I am the one to do it. Please call if interested. Leash and food bowl included.”

I look in the mirror and hardly recognize the hallow-eyed, angry, pessimistic, miserable woman staring back at me sometimes. When did my skin turn that grayish color? When did I become such a wuss?

Last night you screamed on and off for hours while your dad and I took turns rocking you. When you finally fell asleep, it lasted a grand total of 20 minutes before you were awake and screaming again. I let you cry in your crib for 16 painful minutes and 34 excruciating seconds before I finally went into your room to calm you down and feed you. I felt like the worst mother in the world. The biggest failure. Then you woke up every 2 or 3 hours throughout the night – again starving and again screaming – just like you did in the first few weeks that I brought you home. But – when I brought you home everyone said, “Oh, just give him 6 weeks and he’ll figure things out.” Six weeks came and went and then it was, “Wait until three months.” Well you turned three months old yesterday and now I’m told everything should be nicely sorted out by the time you reach six months. At this point, I fear that I will rocking you to sleep as a screaming teenager.

I keep searching for the silver bullet – the one thing that will turn you into a happy and content child. If I would just stop eating dairy… If I just hadn’t held you so much as a newborn… If I just followed these three easy steps… then, THEN you would be happy. All the babies on Facebook with birthdays close to yours are sleeping 10 and 11 hours each night, and all the books on the shelf tell me I’m doing it wrong. One book says to let you cry it out. The other book says that allowing you to cry so long will cause neurological and psychological damage. Either way, I fear that I’ve already broken you.

When people ask how I’m doing, I generally want to break down in tears. Instead, I usually just mumble something like, “There are good days and bad days,” at which point I immediately feel guilty for being such a downer, so I follow it up with, “But we are GREAT!” Other times it’s just emotionally easier to reply with a simple, “Good, how are you?” I cover my real feelings the same way I layer on concealer to cover the dark circles under my eyes.

It’s true: there are good days and good moments mixed in with the bad. Like that one time you slept for six hours. Or last week when you learned to roll over. Or when your face lights up with a delightful giggle because you hear my voice. It is immensely important for me to try to remember the positive. But there are also days when I truly hate being a parent – days when it feels like the biggest mistake I ever made. Because being your mother is the hardest thing I have ever done. Never before have I been filled with such completely debilitating self-doubt. Never before have I felt so angry or anxious. Or so helpless.

But, my dear, lovely boy, you are not a puppy. You are my baby. My flesh. And no matter how many meltdowns you and I have, one thing is sure: I definitely love you more than a puppy.

Love,

Mama