Journal prompt numero uno
I keep feeling like I need to write more down.
I have a kid now - I need to do the adult thing and make a note of little details. Especially since my memory is basically a sieve these days.
So yeah. I'm doing a thing. I'm going to try some journal prompts. Think I can do three in two weeks? Think I can do three in a year? Guess we'll find out.
Prompt numero uno: In what way are you proud of yourself, as a new mother?
I almost didn't choose this one. I want to shy away from complimenting myself. I can't be worthy, right? There's always something I can do better. Be better at. Something that needs improvement.
But no, I'm not going to do that. I have done my fair share of wishing I was better than I actually am. So here's a few things that I'm pretty damn proud of:
I rocked pregnancy and delivery. I can't take all the credit, I know, but seriously. I am so proud of my body. I felt beautiful. Sexy, even. Even with all 40 of those pregnancy pounds. I did my makeup daily. Curled my hair. Wore cute clothes. Smiled often. Spent enough time in the sunshine to practically glow. Pregnancy was great! I worked until the day I delivered, representing the Hospital at our local Farmer's Market all morning. By the time I got home I was exhausted, so I fell asleep on the couch (I also loved having an excuse for alllllll the naps while pregnant). Woke up thinking I peed myself at 38 weeks and four days pregnant. Luke was convinced I peed. He wasn't ready yet. We didn't have our bags packed yet. It wasn't time! I still had work to do!
Guess what. I didn't pee myself.
Delivery is somewhat of a blur, but after a few hours of inducing labor with Pitocin, a textbook epidural, and a quick nap, I was fully dilated and pushing within nine hours of being admitted to the hospital. 30 minutes later I was holding my sweet baby boy in my arms.
How freakin' cool is that? I nailed it. The nurses said my pushes were amazing. I may have been a bit of a diva and asked for a crapload of popsicles and chicken broth, but let's not talk about that...
Being a mom was weird. My instincts had kicked in, and I seemed to be doing okay, but I was second-guessing many of my decisions. I don't think I had postpartum depression, but I do think I had postpartum rage. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It never came out to anyone, but I was so angry. Angry at the world, at my husband, with family members, and strangers. I almost can't remember what that felt like, nearly six months later, but I do remember it consuming me.
Back to being proud of myself.
Throughout all that anger, isolation, panic, second-guessing, extreme fatigue, and massive life changes, I still kept another human alive. I - the person that required so much sleep to function - woke up every few hours to nurse my child. I cooked a meal every once in a while. I managed to shower daily. I survived.
And then, after a few months of surviving, I went back to work. It's strange - if I think about working full time as a mother as one day at a time, it seems manageable. Not easy, but totally manageable. But when I step back to review the past four months and everything (and nothing) I've accomplished it's pretty astounding. My days are no longer my own. I do not dictate my schedule, my son does. I spend countless hours expressing breast milk because I want him to have the best nutrients he could possibly have. I do SO much laundry and clean pump parts repeatedly. I entertain my tiny little human, snuggle him, and help him sleep. I bathe him, care for him when he's sick, and feed him. I teach him. I act like I know what I want and what I'm doing so I can tell other people what I want them to do with my child. I research ridiculous baby questions for hours.
I could go on, but I think you get the point. It's a lot. That's all new - not including any obligations to my career, my household, my husband, and my business (let's be real, the business has been on hold). I am PROUD of that.
I have managed to not feel like the shittiest mom there ever was even though many times I am not choosing the popular route when it comes to raising Eli. That, in and of itself, is a feat.
There are some days I spend drowning in negativity, anxiety, and inadequacy.
There are other days I spend feeling rested, strong, capable, and ready to take on any obstacle.
Motherhood is weird. I think I still feel like an imposter. I don't know that I'll ever feel like an expert. But I do know that I intend to continue to feel pride in my accomplishments, however small.
Eli changed my life.
I have a kid now - I need to do the adult thing and make a note of little details. Especially since my memory is basically a sieve these days.
So yeah. I'm doing a thing. I'm going to try some journal prompts. Think I can do three in two weeks? Think I can do three in a year? Guess we'll find out.
Prompt numero uno: In what way are you proud of yourself, as a new mother?
I almost didn't choose this one. I want to shy away from complimenting myself. I can't be worthy, right? There's always something I can do better. Be better at. Something that needs improvement.
But no, I'm not going to do that. I have done my fair share of wishing I was better than I actually am. So here's a few things that I'm pretty damn proud of:
I rocked pregnancy and delivery. I can't take all the credit, I know, but seriously. I am so proud of my body. I felt beautiful. Sexy, even. Even with all 40 of those pregnancy pounds. I did my makeup daily. Curled my hair. Wore cute clothes. Smiled often. Spent enough time in the sunshine to practically glow. Pregnancy was great! I worked until the day I delivered, representing the Hospital at our local Farmer's Market all morning. By the time I got home I was exhausted, so I fell asleep on the couch (I also loved having an excuse for alllllll the naps while pregnant). Woke up thinking I peed myself at 38 weeks and four days pregnant. Luke was convinced I peed. He wasn't ready yet. We didn't have our bags packed yet. It wasn't time! I still had work to do!
Guess what. I didn't pee myself.
Delivery is somewhat of a blur, but after a few hours of inducing labor with Pitocin, a textbook epidural, and a quick nap, I was fully dilated and pushing within nine hours of being admitted to the hospital. 30 minutes later I was holding my sweet baby boy in my arms.
How freakin' cool is that? I nailed it. The nurses said my pushes were amazing. I may have been a bit of a diva and asked for a crapload of popsicles and chicken broth, but let's not talk about that...
Being a mom was weird. My instincts had kicked in, and I seemed to be doing okay, but I was second-guessing many of my decisions. I don't think I had postpartum depression, but I do think I had postpartum rage. It was unlike anything I had ever experienced. It never came out to anyone, but I was so angry. Angry at the world, at my husband, with family members, and strangers. I almost can't remember what that felt like, nearly six months later, but I do remember it consuming me.
Back to being proud of myself.
Throughout all that anger, isolation, panic, second-guessing, extreme fatigue, and massive life changes, I still kept another human alive. I - the person that required so much sleep to function - woke up every few hours to nurse my child. I cooked a meal every once in a while. I managed to shower daily. I survived.
And then, after a few months of surviving, I went back to work. It's strange - if I think about working full time as a mother as one day at a time, it seems manageable. Not easy, but totally manageable. But when I step back to review the past four months and everything (and nothing) I've accomplished it's pretty astounding. My days are no longer my own. I do not dictate my schedule, my son does. I spend countless hours expressing breast milk because I want him to have the best nutrients he could possibly have. I do SO much laundry and clean pump parts repeatedly. I entertain my tiny little human, snuggle him, and help him sleep. I bathe him, care for him when he's sick, and feed him. I teach him. I act like I know what I want and what I'm doing so I can tell other people what I want them to do with my child. I research ridiculous baby questions for hours.
I could go on, but I think you get the point. It's a lot. That's all new - not including any obligations to my career, my household, my husband, and my business (let's be real, the business has been on hold). I am PROUD of that.
I have managed to not feel like the shittiest mom there ever was even though many times I am not choosing the popular route when it comes to raising Eli. That, in and of itself, is a feat.
There are some days I spend drowning in negativity, anxiety, and inadequacy.
There are other days I spend feeling rested, strong, capable, and ready to take on any obstacle.
Motherhood is weird. I think I still feel like an imposter. I don't know that I'll ever feel like an expert. But I do know that I intend to continue to feel pride in my accomplishments, however small.
Eli changed my life.
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