This post is by Sarah Powers, Happiest Home contributor and Managing Editor, and blogger at Powers of Mine.
Photo: Anna Hollister Photography
To my first-time pregnant friend,
You’ve been on my mind lately – a couple of you, actually – dearest longtime friends of mine, about to become moms for the first time. I sent one of you a box of old maternity clothes, the few surviving pieces in good shape after my own three pregnancies in five years. To the other I sent a few books (at your request). Toward you both I find my thoughts wandering daily.
With a three-month-old of my own, I am partly of the world into which you are about to enter; but mine is a third and final babe, riding in a car seat that held her brother and sister before her, pushed in a stroller that is not only no longer fashionable but also probably no longer on the market. I am experienced, yes; but I’m out of touch, too, with the trends of new motherhood.
I want to say the right things to you, offer words that mean something and aren’t just clichés (though, as you’ll find, so many of the clichés are true). I want to be helpful. I want to make it wonderful for you, this thing that is about to happen. I want to save you from some of the parts that aren’t wonderful, and from the disappointment that comes when you realize that some of it sucks, sometimes.
This morning at the breakfast table I thought of you. Big kids slurped cereal, Bryan and I passed the baby back and forth as we refilled our coffee and managed our own breakfasts. When she fussed I lifted my shirt and offered her a meal of her own. A quick latch, the familiar let-down and then after only a minute or so, she pulled off with a grin, a mess of dripping milk and toothlessness as if to say, “no thanks, Mom. I’m good for now.”
And at that moment I saw myself as a new mom and felt the weight of all the things that would have gone through my head back then. Why isn’t she hungry? How long has it been since she last nursed? If she doesn’t complete a full feeding on one side, she won’t get the hindmilk. And I might get engorged. Should I try again, force her to make it to the arbitrary 12 minutes I’ve decided is an adequate feed? And, if not, which side should I offer next time? And will next time be sooner than 2.5-3 hours?
For just an instant I marveled at the vast distance between that new mom that I was and the one I am now. Five years ago I would have been seated on the couch in proper breastfeeding posture, a nursing pillow on my lap and the TV remote by my side, watching the clock as if it held the answers to all my feeding questions; this morning I sat at the kitchen table surrounded by chaos, drinking coffee and eating cereal while nursing this third and final babe without a clue (or a care) about the clock.
And in that instant I was thankful for both of those versions of me (for one allowed the other to become, of course). And I thought of you.
Because it wasn’t really about nursing at the breakfast table at all, was it? It was about the beautiful way that mothering gets more automatic with every baby and each passing year. And that’s the part I wish I could send to you in a package – that feeling of knowing what you’re doing, of autopilot, of security, of believing in your heart of hearts that you have what your baby needs.
Do I feel that feeling all the time? Oh my goodness, no. I’m in uncharted waters with my oldest and even with her brother, who is a different kid altogether (go figure) than his predecessor. But in this familiar stage of babyhood, I’m in my element. I get all the deliciousness of giggles and snuggles without the worrying, the wondering, the figuring out. I get the rewards without trying so hard to remember all the rules.
If I could bottle that feeling up for you, I would. But I cannot. Your own new motherhood experience awaits, and I can’t make yours easier or better any more than I can change the one I went through. All the wise words in all the books in the world won’t clear from your path its own disturbances, or prepare you for how you will handle them (and you will handle them – better and more capably than you can even imagine).
And so I hold back when we talk on the phone, sometimes. I ask questions, I listen, and I make silent wishes for you. I wish for simple things, like an easy delivery and a healthy baby. I also wish for things that will happen on their own in due time, whether I wish them or not (but I do it anyway): like a good night’s sleep, and new friendships with other moms, and a pair of jeans that fit again.
Unless you ask, I don’t give advice. And when you ask, I find myself saying things like, “well, there are lots of different ways to think about it” or “I think everyone is different, so it depends on what you believe,” which I realize is completely frustrating when all you want to know is The Answer. And then I make another silent wish that you discover as soon as possible that there is no one right answer.
I wish that as you read the books and listen to the nurses and your mom and your mother-in-law – all of whom have wisdom but none of whom have the answer – you will also read your baby and listen to your heart. That combination of looking outward for information and inward for intuition is magical, I have found.
I wish that when you find yourself clinging to The Rules – of feeding, or sleep schedules, or developmental milestones, or anything else we’re supposed to Learn All The Things About – you understand that those rules are meant to give you structure, to educate you, to guide you, and the world will not fall apart if you choose to throw them out the window.
I wish for you to know that it’s okay to pick your battles. It’s easy to get sucked into believing we have to care passionately about everything from diapers to discipline, that every choice somehow makes a statement about who we are as a parent. But sometimes, I think, finding your way is more of a series of happy accidents than a carefully thought-out process.
My biggest wish, though, the one before I blow out all the candles while holding a lucky penny and a four-leaf clover at 11:11, is that you find satisfaction and worthiness in this work of mothering. I don’t mean that you find it enjoyable all the time, or that it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to you. I mean that in the middle of the really ugly parts when doubt rages and fear snarls and the tears spill out over the edges of everywhere, that you feel like what you’re doing matters, and that you are the right one to do it, here, now, for this baby.
I know that’s not really a sentiment that fits well on a greeting card, but it’s what I’ve got. And while part of me wants to wave a magic wand and whisk you right to this sweet place I’m in, five years later, where three kids feels do-able and life makes a bit of sense, I won’t. I’d rather walk this path beside you as a friend who is just enough further along to know that none of us has all the answers, and be here when you call to say “I hate this!” and also when you call to say “I love him!”.
I’d rather be a real-life lifeline than a fairy god-sister. Because, you know what? You’ve got this. I know you do.
love,
Sarah
* * * * *
What do you wish for the new moms in your life? Do you give advice, or hold back? How has your own mothering changed over time?
PS: If you liked this post and are looking for more on new motherhood, check out these posts from our archives.
Oh, I just love this so much, Sarah. You captured it all so perfectly.
Thanks, Meagan. 🙂
I agree, extremely well written. Thanks so much for sharing!
Thank you, Kate!
Love. Love. Love. You got this. I know you do!!
xoxo
Thanks, friend. xo
Beautiful. Just beautiful. We’ve got three little ones as well so this speaks loud and clear to my heart.
Oh, thanks so much, Amanda. 🙂
very, very beautifully written.
Thank you!
So beautiful. I had a mama friend like you, ahead of me a few years when I was a new mother, and she has been such an inspiration. Mostly in what she has not advised me rather than in what she has. These women are lucky to have you!
Oh, that’s so cool to hear, Dona. Thanks for sharing. xoxo
Beautiful, Sarah!!
Thanks, friend! 🙂
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Oh Sarah, your writing is so captivating. I have missed it so much, this is just lovely.
Thanks Tracy! I miss YOU! xoxo
Woah Sarah-that was incredible. Seriously seriously incredible. Just cried while reading it. You are very talented, and your friends are so lucky to have you. Love you friend
Thank you, sweet friend. xo
Hah. Ha ha ha ha. I am a little over a month into being a new mom. Last night at dinner, as if on cue, our newborn started crying just as I set the plates down at the table. It quickly became clear she wanted to nurse. In the past this has meant me abandoning my meal while my husband eats alone, but last night I had him roll my computer chair over to a lower table, put my pillow in my lap, baby on the pillow, and we continued our dinner with the baby nursing.
I told my husband I thought it was a little weird and that I felt a bit awkward about the whole thing. (I was the last of four, and never lived in a house with a woman who was actively breastfeeding, so much of nursing is new and exciting territory for me.) He looked at me and more or less said, you’re hungry, baby’s hungry, there isn’t a problem here. D’awwww.
Thanks for writing this. 🙂
Love this, Steph! Good for you, and your sweet husband, for making dinner time work. (Mom’s gotta eat, right? 🙂 ) Thanks so much for your comment.
Beautifully written! As a first time mom I was nodding my head along at all of your descriptions 😉
Thank you, Kath! Happy Mother’s Day!
You are the best, Sarah! Every day of this pregnancy (and beyond), I am so thankful for your friendship, guidance, inspiration and (last but not least) old maternity clothes. Especially touched by this post, and looking forward to seeing you next week!! <3
Love, First-Time Pregnant Friend
xoxoxo – love you, and I already love that sweet boy.
I am in tears. This is so beautifully written, I could not have said this better. I am going to print this and give to one of my best friends who is having her first baby in 3 months. Thank you!
Thank YOU, Marisa. I appreciate it so much! 🙂
Absolutely beautiful, Sarah. I loved this.
Thanks, Devon. xo
Such a wonderful post in every way! You had me in tears by the end because there’s just so much truth to what you wrote. Thank you!
Thank YOU, Jenny! 🙂
This is just an amazing peace of writing, it brought tears to my eyes.
For to everything you said was so true. I’m a new mom and my baby boys
Going to be 7 months next weeks. And its true sometimes you think you
Can’t do this, and just want to give up, but in the end it’s work all the confusion and
Tiredness because you love him so much!
Oh Angel, thanks. Hang in there – it gets easier…I promise! 🙂
Tears streamed down my face as I read this the night before Mother’s Day. I am expecting my second baby next month and this brought back so many memories of those first many hard months of new motherhood. Just exquisitely written… it really captures those moments of insecurity especially as you try to figure out a nursing relationship, and what that process is symbolic of in motherhood. I’ve added this to a small folder of bookmarked essays and posts that are pure parenting gold. Thanks for sharing, I appreciate it.
Emma, thank you so much. I bet you’ll find the process of welcoming #2 a little easier in some ways (and in others totally harder, of course). Good luck to you, and congrats on #2! 🙂
I cried when I read this a few weeks ago, pre-baby H. Just re-read it 10 days into newborn-hood and cried even more. You’re such a gifted writer, Sarah! I adore you for all the support and love you share. xo
Thank you, friend. Snuggle those boys for me, and hang in there. It gets easier. 🙂 xo
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but certainly you’re going to a famous blogger if you are not already 😉 Cheers!