I feel bad about myself. Yes, that feeling of guilt that’s been weighing on me for a while now is getting harder and harder to bear. I feel so ordinary these days. I don’t think I’m a very good mom, because I have to admit that I find it hard to be your mom, sweetheart. The truth is, I’m physically and mentally exhausted.
Nothing is simple with you.
Even before you were born, you broke my poor heart. First, you made us worry that you might have Down syndrome. Then, toward the end of my pregnancy, your little heart was beating too fast, and I had to go to the hospital three times to make sure you were okay. The usual baby ailments also showed up: jaundice, toxic erythema, infant mastitis, eczema, colic, acid reflux… I know none of this is serious, but it just seems like you’ve had absolutely every little problem that can come with being such a tiny baby. I’m always worried about you, and my heart has a hard time coming to terms with it.
You’re my little BABI, my little clingy one. I’m your whole world, and I understand you, but you can’t bear to be anywhere but in my arms—not even for a few minutes. It took six long months before I could take a shower without hearing you cry—or rather, scream—while I was trying to wash myself.
And bedtime! It took you 8 months before you’d agree to take naps in your own bed. Eight long months of trying to put you down without you noticing, racking up failures, and trying to get you back to sleep for hours on end. Sleeping anywhere else? Forget about it. You’re almost a year old, and you still wake up every 3 hours at night.
On top of that, you’re allergic to peanuts and probably a few other things. When you eat, I’m always on the lookout for a potential reaction, and I have eyes only for you. When we go out, I have to check a thousand times to make sure I have your EpiPen and Benadryl. I know—these days, allergies like this are relatively easy to manage. But knowing that something so ridiculous could kill you so easily terrifies me.
I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t help comparing you to others. I remember your big brother sleeping 12 hours straight at 3 months old. I look at my friends’ babies who sleep anywhere, anytime, and I envy them. I see all the families going to any restaurant without stress, people grocery shopping without meticulously checking ingredient lists, and I envy them all, too.
So yes, I find it hard to be your mom. I’d like to be as good a mother to you as I was to your brother. With him, I’ll admit, life was simpler. That must be why I was so relaxed, fulfilled, and joyful. With you, I’m more the tired, impatient, discouraged type. I do my best to push those feelings aside—I swear—but I don’t always succeed, and I’m sorry about that.
The beauty of it all, my love, is that I wouldn’t trade you for anything in the world. I love you fiercely. That’s surely what makes all of this so hard…