The fog will lift, just know that

It's already been two whole weeks since I gave birth to my beyond beautiful daughter, who I will refer to on here as R.P.

For the past two weeks, what the day of the month it is, and sometimes even the hours in those days have all blurred together as a giant cluster of diaper changings, feedings, cuddles, baskets of the world's tiniest laundry, and the amount of times I get up during the darkest hours only to button up onesie snaps all wrong.

Time is now measured in her milestones and needs. When I woke up today, I knew it was Friday. A Friday in December. I honest to god had to look at my phone to realize it was already the 8th. All I knew was that Friday meant she was another week older. See what I mean? She's now my clock, as well as my alarm.

When she cries at any given point in the day, it's time for a changing. Before that happens, I heat a bottle and it's never as warm as it should be by the time a fresh diaper is on and she's screaming to be fed. As a new and first-time mom, my time-management is less than impressive. It's been a whole lot of trial and error around here. I have been conducting my own little experiments such as when the best time to bathe her is. I haven't yet figured this kind of stuff out, but I've only co-existed with this little girl for fourteen days now. It's going to take some time. In many ways we're still new roomies figuring out one another's patterns and needs.

Here's a story for you. When I was younger I desperately wanted a Tamagotchi because they were all the rage. In case the name isn't ringing a bell, Tamagotchi's were these little handheld digital pets that you had to cater to by feeding and cleaning and caring for. I ended up getting one, but like all kids do, I lost interest almost immediately. As soon as I realized how demanding of my time this thing was, having the audacity to start ringing in the middle of the night and wake me up, I'm pretty sure I tossed it in my closet and pretended it didn't exist. My Mom eventually ended up taking care of this stupid thing for me because she is through and through the nurturing type (more so because she could probably hear it still making noises). Eventually the thing just died and that was the end of the Tamagotchi pet.

First off, NO, I did not throw my baby in my closet only to pretend she doesn't exist! Secondly, I thought of this Tamagotchi the other night because there I was, half awake, half dead at 3:00 a.m., feeding this beautiful teary-eyed baby of mine, thinking, "my my, how far we've come...". That's when I realized that THIS is motherhood, and also how far removed I now feel from everything prior to it. This baby of mine will one day be the little girl neglecting a toy she so badly wanted, and there I'll be, smirking to myself because she will have no idea how different life will be for her when she becomes a mother, and how she will be so eager to put herself last for the needs and wants of someone else who will be her number one. I think that's what makes the Tamagotchi story so funny in retrospect.

Currently, I am writing at my kitchen table, with a mug of much too cold coffee to my right. To my left on the table is a half written grocery list, an empty baby bottle, a washcloth that I originally grabbed to go clean something I've already forgotten, a dirty bib, a soother she loved yesterday but seems to hate today, and just beside me is a bassinet, cradling a now quiet, tiny little girl who fought off sleep for as long as possible today. The only sound right now aside from these keys as I type, is the furnace warming this place up. The house smells like the vanilla candle burning, which is mighty nicer than the grocery bag of poopy diapers hanging up outside of our front door. Surely anyone who visits will appreciate that sight.

I have a basket of laundry to go do, a sink of bottles and nipples to clean, a supper to start that I have no leads for, and somehow, I, the hypothetical OCD-ridden mixture of Monica Gellar and Danny Tanner, have let these floors go unwashed for weeks. My husband used to tell me I was going to ruin the finish on them because I would clean them every other day. I don't even think I believe in "organized chaos". Let's just aim for no chaos and we can all sleep easier at night (well, unless you have a newborn, because in that case you're getting no sleep).

But you know what? It's all okay, because this is exactly the life I signed up for. I knew what I was getting into. I never doubted anyone who told me how challenging it would be, or how some days all I'd want to do is cry.

Another story for you. Since coming home from the hospital, I have no doubt been experiencing what is called "the baby blues". From what I've gathered, it's the result of the chemical imbalance taking place in a postpartum body. As the pregnancy high leaves my system and my body tries to go back to it's familiar state, there's a whole lot of hormone insanity happening in there. I honest to god can cry on command lately. I've cried over a plethora of things recently.

On my first night home I was talking about how much I appreciated the kindness of my labour and delivery nurse, and I bawled my eyes out like she was someone I had known forever. Another time, my Mom who helped me for the whole first week, left to go to the store and I bawled again, as though she was leaving and never coming back. The story I get most made fun of for, however, was when I was trying to hide the fact that I was on the verge of bursting into tears, so I got up off the couch and stood facing the corner crying. From my husband's perspective I must have looked like a complete lunatic who was standing admiring the lamp... Hesitantly he asked if I was okay. I don't think my sobbing and blubbering "YES" was believable.

I was walking around acting like these crying fits were abnormal, but they're just part of the process I've been told. Week two has been much better though. I no longer feel the need to cry when someone leaves, or feel the need to make friendship bracelets for the nurse and I.

This is where I want to give a huge shoutout to other moms, both new and experienced. Every single mom I have reached out to, even if to just ask if they too are experiencing certain things, have left me feeling a million times better. There is something to be said about this universal experience of motherhood that we can and should allow to bond us. Yes, everyone's experience is certainly different since no two babies are the same, and no ones home life is exactly like the other's, but these feelings of self-doubt, worry, exhaustion, procrastination and whatever else, are ones we all go through, and that is OKAY! If you want to go stand in the corner and admire your lamp (aka cry and pretend you're not having a total meltdown) then do it. OR, you can just cry in front of whoever the hell is there and know that you're entitled to feel that way and no body is going to judge you for it.

Seriously, mothers need to be cut some slack. Now that I am part of this elite club of superwomen, I can honestly say that I am completely overwhelmed and I'm merely on the rookie level. I can't quite fathom the levels way above me, like the mother of three you see in the grocery store, who has one kid in the cart, one on her back, another swaddled to her chest, slinging produce into bags like she has 4 extra hands. These women are powerhouses, and I long to be one of them one day.

I took a good look in the mirror earlier this week, and I realized that I look a lot scrawnier than usual. Losing my baby bump almost immediately surely played a role in that, but I also realized I had been so focused on the baby's eating schedule that I had forgotten to feed myself. I also realized my hair hadn't been done in over a week, my "getting ready" in the morning routine simply involved brushing my teeth and splashing water on my face, and I had been wearing the same sweat pants for a number of days. I had "new mom" written all over me. And you know what? I smiled in the mirror because this was me easing into my new role without even trying. When I realized that I wasn't putting me first, I knew I was doing exactly what mothers do best. I'd like to believe that at that moment, mothers all over the world applauded me and said, "welcome to the club, kid. You're in for an amazing and wild ride".

As the days blur on by, R.P. and I are slowly but surely making progress. In the morning she naps while I make her bottles. After her feedings she likes to be held against my chest, which seems to be her favourite napping spot. She drinks way too fast, so she always ends up with the hiccups. She loves to be talked to, and I long for the days when she will talk back to me.

In the midst of every difficult moment, day, or night, I remind myself that this little baby is adjusting too, and this whole world is entirely new to her; at least I know what's happening. All she knows is that she was comfy and cozy inside of me, where she never had to cry because she was hungry, or had a full diaper, or was uncomfortable. She was safe and secure for 9 whole months, and in one fell swoop she was brought into this world of lights and sounds and faces she doesn't know. I tell myself that it's harder for her than it is for me, which helps when it's 3:00 a.m. and the last thing I want to do is get up and change a diaper. I do it anyways because when I decided I wanted to become pregnant and be a mother, I signed up for this kind of stuff. I do the things I don't necessarily always want to do, because it's all for her and because she needs me. As her mother, my soul purpose is to care for her, so there is no amount of exhaustion or frustration that I will allow to stand in my way of doing so.

I know that I'm still very new to this role, and even now it feels strange calling myself a mother. I know that there are a billion things I still don't know, and many I probably never will. I know that I won't do things perfectly, I know that many people will have opinions about my way of mothering. I know that I will never stop learning, and I know that R.P., though my child, will also be my greatest teacher. For the billion things I don't know, there will always be one thing I do: to love endlessly.

I fall more and more in love with my daughter each and every time I look at her (even when she's screaming like a wild banshee). I can only imagine how much love I will have for her when she's a rambunctious toddler, or an imaginative child, a soul-searching teenager, or a beautiful woman blossoming into a mother of her own.

I remind myself that this, right now, just as it is, in all of it's frumpy-feeling, sweatpants-wearing, cold-coffee drinking, earplug-yearning glory, is motherhood, and it is exactly what I dreamed it would be and more.