From the Archives: The Original Overshare

It's been a minute since I've written anything. I'd like to say it's because I've been busy with family, work, trips, and generally superwomaning the hell out of life (and part of that would be true). But the truth is, much of it stems from the fact that I am simply surviving.

Wait. That sounded way more dire than I intended it to.

I think the real reason is that my nervous system is on overload. Like my phone so annoyingly does too often, it's overheating and needs to shut down the nonessential features in order to preserve its core functions.

And somewhere in all of that is what I actually want to talk about—the words crammed and shoved into the tiny folds and crevices of my brain. They're there, somewhere, but they just won't organize themselves enough to form anything coherent yet.

I need a reset.

Luckily for me (and you?), I stumbled across a piece this morning that I wrote nearly ten years ago, on the cusp of Sam's first birthday. I remember the words pouring out as I reflected on that first year of motherhood. It was raw, unfiltered, and shockingly honest, and I was terrified to share it. It felt almost like a sin to admit some of the things I was thinking.

But against my better judgment (and with the help of two glasses of wine), I hit "post" and waited for the scorn and shame to come echoing back at me.

Only, it didn't.

Instead, I heard echoes of support, empathy, and camaraderie. Of "Oh my gosh, you too??" and "I wish we talked about this more."

And in a way, that was my first step onto my own personal path toward breaking the stigma and naming the feelings so many women experience in the early days of motherhood.

So, while I'm waiting for my nervous system and exhausted mind to buffer and reset, I wanted to reshare the original "blog" that made me feel so much less alone—and so much more, well, normal.

What They Don’t Tell You About New Motherhood

Written by Megan Eble, September 2016

People try to prepare you for those first few days and weeks and months with a newborn. From the second that stick turns pink, you start preparing.

You take childbirth classes and "breast is best" classes, and Baby 101's. You read article after article, book after book. You look at mommy blogs, and talk to your friends and sisters and co-workers about their experiences.

You buy the crib and the car seat, the swing and four cases of diapers. You feel SO prepared. When the day finally comes to have him, you're anxious and excited and ready to meet this little creature that's been kicking your bladder for months.

And then, with a push or a pull, he’s here! And once you're cleaned up and stitched up and the baby is weighed and measured and wiped down, the nurse brings him to you and says,

"Here you go! Welcome to parenthood, Mama!”

And off you go on your merry way.

Sort of.

Here’s what they DON'T tell you as you’re spending those short nine months preparing yourself:

It might not be love at first sight.

The moment I first laid eyes on my baby boy; I expected my heart to burst open and drown us all in love.

It didn’t.

Of course, I was happy and relieved he was here and healthy, but after 14 hours, I was just going through motions. I was exhausted, starving, not sure what time it was, and starting to feel the pain that the epidural had kept from me.

I held him for an hour in the post-delivery quietness. I kissed his head and marveled at his tiny fingers. But deep down, I just wanted to shower, sleep, and eat a cheeseburger.

You might regret it at first.

I did.

It was 3:30 in the morning the first night we were home.

I sat on the floor trying to feed my baby - disoriented and exhausted, tears streaming down my face - wondering what the hell I had done to my life. Why did we decide to have a baby? There was no way I could do this. I wanted a do-over. I wanted no part of this new life.

Despair and guilt swirled around in my head as I rocked this tiny stranger back and forth desperately trying to get him to latch, all while screaming the words in my head that I dared not say out loud,

“I take it back, I take it back...”

You might lose yourself.

I did.

The first few weeks after bringing my son home from the hospital were terrible. I cried every day. Uncontrollable, desperate sobs that shook my entire body.

My hormones lied to me, told me I was a failure as a mother, and a terrible wife.

My husband tried in vain to comfort me, to reassure me that everything was going to be okay and that I was doing a good job.

I didn’t believe him.

I felt like my body was not my own. I felt so out of control of everything happening. Every day was a struggle. I didn’t want to be living this way. I wanted to be basking in the glow of new motherhood, but I couldn’t recognize it through the eyes of the broken girl that I saw looking back at me in the mirror.

It will get better.

It did.

As the days went by, we started falling into a rhythm. Every day was different, but there became a familiarity to everything. I was changing. Adapting to my new role in life. Accepting what was not in my control and letting go of the things that weren't.

And just as I was changing, so was my son. He became a pro at latching and breastfeeding became natural to both of us. He would also take a bottle with ease. He was gaining rolls on his tummy and thighs, starting to see things more clearly, and learning how to flip from his belly to his back.

He started "talking", figuring out the world around him. He was comfortable in his crib, sleeping a little longer each night until he was slept 7 and 8-hour stretches. I was getting more rest, too, and finally starting to feel like a human again.

It may take time, but you’ll fall in love 1,000 times over.

One Sunday afternoon, after I had been gone all day working on my Capstone for grad school, I finally got home and plopped down next to my son as he was lying on his boppy pillow babbling to himself.

He stopped babbling and looked up and me, locked his eyes on mine, and smiled for the first time. A big, gummy smile that spread across his face and made his eyes sparkle.

And in that moment – finally – my heart exploded and I thought we would both drown in love.

And the despair and doubt and regret dissolved away and was replaced by the brilliant spark of motherhood for which I had been longing.

We had made it. We had survived those first foggy, exhausting, emotional, life-changing months.

And I laughed and smiled back at him through the happy tears that were streaming down my face.

So, to those who are in the thick of new motherhood, who are self-doubting and regretting and longing to turn back time...

You are going to be okay.

Just hold on.

Wait for it.

Your spark is coming too.