My Mat Leave: An FYI, IRL (IYKYK)

Co-workers: Welcome back! How was maternity leave?

Me: Really great - very special time. (Moving on to discuss literally anything else)

…But if you really want to know how maternity leave went:

I fed the baby. I fed 12x a day every two-ish hours for 20+ minutes for months. I woke up from a brief snooze at 1am, 2am, 3am, and 4am to feed the baby. I woke up assuming baby would wake up soon. Sometimes baby woke up soon. Sometimes baby continued sleeping. I wondered if baby was pranking me. I felt human after four precious, consecutive hours of sleep. I scrolled and scrolled and scrolled waging war against FOMO. I eventually left the battlefield deleting all social media apps from my phone and made a rule: Only Reading When Feeding. I read 21 books. Unrelated, why does my clothing only snag on doors when I’m deliriously tired?

I wiped up spit up. Spit up in my hair, down my front, down my back, on the couch, up the wall, on the baby, in the dog hair, on the toddler, and unfortunately, in my mouth. My couch has an imprint of my body traced in spit up. My couch doesn’t smell great. I have worried for many hours about spit up. I asked Google. Google told me it was too much spit up. The doctor said everything is normal. The doctor said stop Googling.

I drove through Starbucks. I drove through Starbucks. I drove through Starbucks. I drove through Starbucks.

I extended my reading-while-feeding rule to articles. I read an article that said talking to baby boosts cognitive development. I read articles to baby about how to boost their own cognitive development. The baby looked bored. He seemed to prefer Goodnight Moon. I read Goodnight Moon 1,347 times. Was One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish always so absurdly long?

Is baby too hot? Is baby too cold? Is baby hungry? Is that an “in pain” or an “I’m bored” cry? First laugh! So soon?

Google, how do you know you have a gifted baby? Everything is normal.

I cried over spilt milk. I didn’t cry over spilt milk because the milk was spilled by my toddler, and it was an accident. I felt explosive wrath at my husband for spilling my milk. My poor husband.

I did extensive mom math using an app tracking how much I feed, when I feed, when he sleeps, when he poops, and what color it was. I was delighted to learn I could download the data into a spreadsheet. I did.

I have munched on those delicious cheeks, thighs, button nose, pudgy hands and round little feet ad nauseum. I rocked and rocked and rocked, sang, swung, rocked, then finally put down screaming baby. I spent 45 minutes scrolling pictures of the baby during their nap. Baby woke up. I felt deep frustration when baby woke up too soon because I was not done smiling lovingly at the photos I took an hour ago of baby. Nap was too short. Nap was too long. No nap. Google, Napping schedule in the first three months. Everything is normal.

I read classical music makes smarter humans. Baby sat in a rocker and I took a long, 5-minute showers while he listened to Top 100 Classical Music Playlists. My hair was free of spit up. I felt totally together after a shower. Baby sensed fleeting confidence and projectile spit up in my hair. No, I am not, in fact, “together” anymore. I then unraveled and stitched myself back together with brief second-shower-rinse listening to rage metal. I’m feeling pretty good.

I stopped reading the news. The news was hard. I felt guilty about this. I allowed myself to become completely consumed by the needs, schedules, monitoring, engagement, sleeping, staying up, hormonal hours with my family.

I took walks. Baby would sleep. Baby would not sleep. Did baby need more activity than what he’d get on a walk? Was walking selfish? Was there enough time between naps to walk to Starbucks? He needed the walk, baby needs nature. Just think of the fresh air. UberEats now delivers Starbucks. Probably better for baby to have it delivered since he’ll nap in his crib instead of the stroller. Right? Better for baby.

I feel love radiating through every cell of my body for baby. For my family. Especially my husband, who with one look has told me he’s in this bazaar, sleepless, wonderful, terrifying existence with me.

Everything is normal.