The list for the year

I recently read a chapter in Tiny Beautiful Things that made me weep almost uncontrollably in my rocking recliner.  The chapter publishes a letter from a father who lost his 21-year-old son to a horrific car accident - hit by a drunk driver.  This father lives on but finds himself feeling dead.  In this letter he captured his overwhelming grief.  The grief he had been experiencing was so disorganised, so thorough, so deep, so controlling, and so heavy that he could not write the letter as a letter - he had to list his thoughts, one number after another.  I don't know what it is exactly, but this list - 1., 2., 3., 4... - really brought out this indescribable pain and sadness.

I cannot say I understand that grief and that pain - everyone's pain is different - but I understand the inability to articulate.  It is not so much the typical 'inability' of not being able to do it because of a lack of skill or means, but the type of 'inability' that is from a deeper place.  There's just too much to work through, and coherent thought is not always an option.  Or perhaps it's an option, but not the right path to take.  And in this way, 'the list' makes sense to me as the right way for me to reflect on my first year as a mother, Maya's first year of life, and our shared first year as special people to each other. 

1. Giving birth to Maya was a really physically painful experience.  I felt so much pain during, so much pain after, and a lot of fear about the impact of that physical pain.  It was a 'total' experience.  It took all of my energy and focus.  I didn't realise this while we were in the hospital, but I was so fully immersed in this physical experience that I don't remember engaging my mind with anything else other than the birth, Maya, and the recovery.  
   
   
2. I think something was off in terms of my mental health from the very beginning, but it was hard to notice it when there was a fresh and fragile newborn who was so new and central to my life that I felt like everything else can wait.  I don't remember feeling joyful, or the cuddles, or truly enjoying holding Maya.  I think from the very beginning I felt mostly self-doubt, confusion, exhaustion, nervousness, and pressure.  I was more focused on 'doing well' as a mother than on spending time with my baby. 
   
   
3. I don't feel like I've changed over the past year, but I must have because I am doing better now.  It doesn't stress me out when she's crying.  I even manage to take videos of her crying, and we (i.e. Maya and me) giggle about them later.  I like showing these crying videos to her and watch her laugh while watching them.  We all have our moments and it's good to laugh them off - she's teaching me that. 
   
   
4. This reminds me of something I heard on The Mom Hour, which is that we (mothers) get good at things because we do them over and over again.  We keep working at certain skills and coping mechanisms because we have to, and eventually we just get really good at them.  It isn't something we have to push ourselves to do, but we simply out of necessity become competent at so many things that are difficult.  When I heard that, it made me feel better about not being able to see my progress.  I just have to trust that as long as I do what I do, I am getting better and better at it. 
   
   
5. Childcare is so tiring.  And the worst part is you can't just rest when you need it.  You're stuck with it because going off to take a break when you need it is just not possible.  You'd have to put baby in the crib, or a fenced off area, or a pack n' play, and hope that baby can entertain self.  Or you can just shut out the crying and get some shut eye.  Either way, it's not pretty.  So you kind of just have to force yourself to stay awake and somewhat energetic when all you want to do is hit pause. 
   
   
6. Sometimes I'm so tired of taking care of Maya that I start to resent her.  
   
   
7. Resenting your child is a really difficult emotion to manage. 
   
   
8. Resenting my daughter makes me feel like a bad mother. 
   
   
9. I struggle with this every day.  On the worst day, I told my family that I don't love Maya. 
   
   
10. J recently made an important point, so obvious but so important and so easily forgotten - Maya doesn't even know how to walk properly, so in what dimension is she to have the ability to care for my emotions?  Whenever I get upset that she's just doing what she wants and making life really difficult for me, I remember that she's in a whole other dimension. 
    
    
11. The other day when I started reflecting on Maya's first year, as it was getting close to her birthday, I realised motherhood is essentially a job I am (or feel I am) lousy at, but I can't quit.  I then remembered a question that someone asked me a long time ago (I surprisingly don't remember who this person is because this particular conversation with this person has come up multiple times at important junctions in my life), and the question is: 
    
    Have you ever done something you're not good at, and stuck with it? 
    
    My answer to that question was no.  And over the years at important times I have reflected on my tendency to get out before things don't go well.  When I see that I'm not good at it, or it's not going to a good place, or I am possibly heading in a direction that is more exhausting and not something I want...I get out.  But I can't quit being a mother; I can't get out.  I mean, of course, it's possible to just abandon her, but that's also far from who I am.  So in this confusing junction, who am I? 
    
    
12. It makes sense to me that there's no perfect mother, that every mother is different; but it's hard to accept not being the 'best' possible mother.  So while I've accepted the 'no perfect' fact, I still often battle with the 'best'.  What is best?  Are my interactions with Maya unhealthy?  Not good parenting?  Am I not being attentive enough to her needs?  Am I taking good care of her development?  Do I talk to her in the 'best' maternal way?  And then there's the fact that she laughs when I laugh, and giggles when I do funny things.  I would rather be a joyful mother than one who ticks all the 'maternal' boxes and is permanently tense. 
    
    
13. There's so much so much and so many layers of difficult emotions stuffed into my identity as Maya's maaaami.  But at the end of the day, here I am watching her daycare webcam (bit obsessively), hoping she's well, that she's having fun, missing her and her cheeky smiles and her wobbly waddles.