I am so tired. This is the worst I have felt since baby first started sleeping through the night over almost 2 months ago. I think the tiredness has slowly been creeping in. I’m seriously close to delirious. I probably shouldn’t be up. But I just needed to record how whack this job if being a mom is sometimes. More specifically – a single mom.
There is no break. I feel like I can go days on end without feeling a break longer than a breath or the time it takes for me to run off to pee. I’m picking baby up. I’m changing him. Feeding him. Feeding him again. And again. And changing him. Changing him immediately after that because of course he poops right after I change him. Oh! Puke all over me and himself and the floor? Let’s change our clothes. AGAIN. Or I could do the equally awesome thing of not changing my clothes for a few days of baby handling. Super impressive to be answering the door in such an outfit at that point. And I’m sure you can imagine the hair.
But really. Almost every cuddle, comfort, book read, baby talk conversation, parenting or healthcare decision, googling of a symptom, song sung, worry about whether he is under or over stimulated, dollar brought in, time spent researching daycare or preschool options…it’s all done by me. And it gets tiring sometimes. I do love having him all to myself and making decisions without conflict, etc, but it does get tiring now and then. My friends who are mothers and who have partners get a lot of what I’m going through. But there is this disconnect at a certain point. If you haven’t lived the life of a single mother you really can’t understand. I’m living it and I can’t even understand. It’s sort of like before you have a baby people tell you what childbirth is going to be like and you ask a million questions and read a million birth stories and watch birth videos. Buuuuut nothing can prepare you for how it is actually going to feel to push a baby out of you. Or recover from pushing a baby out. Or be flooded with love and hormones just after that. Giving birth is a rite of passage. I wouldn’t call being a single mother a rite of passage but it is as unique and irreversible as that.