Hours after becoming a mom for the first time, I developed a mantra — another first. “You can do this,” I repeated in my head. It worked for any situation. The first time my baby vomited on me, I told myself, “You can do this.” The first, second, and third times my infant screamed during bath time, “You can do this,” washed over me. Mostly, though, I clung to my mantra while caring for my newborn on 47 minutes of sleep each week. That’s when I really began to doubt if I could do this.
Before I became pregnant, I watched my mom friends do it.
I’d worried about whether I’d be able to figure out breastfeeding, diaper changes, and roll with the whole lack of sleep thing. But witnessing the moms around me seamlessly handle the trials and tribulations of parenting gave me confidence. They managed the no sleeping (and the never-enough-time-for-showering) with such grace and mega-mom superpowers, I just knew my super abilities would develop along with my son’s sleep schedule.
When my baby and I first came home from the hospital, I felt tired but capable.
Then a few weeks later, the colic showed up and my son screamed instead of sleeping. Our pediatrician told me there was no cure for colic, but I should go home and try to get some sleep. (Yeah, right.) All my energy diverted to soothing my little guy as he wailed through the night.
I was more tired than ever, leaving milk out to curdle on the kitchen counter and stepping into the shower fully clothed. (In all fairness, my clothes were dirty.)
With this epic lack of sleep, my mood soured like the milk I kept forgetting to put back in the refrigerator.
I’d burst into tears for not being able to multitask motherhood the same way my besties had done. Why couldn’t I do this?
I stumbled around feeling like all mothers everywhere had soared through this phase but I was a mess. My mantra didn’t help and I was feeling like a failure for not being able to balance it all.
“How did you get through this?” I asked a friend.
“It’s so hard,” she began, “but you’re not a superhero …”
Reaching out to friends who could validate this wild ride called motherhood supported me in feeling less alone and more competent.
My BFFs helped me understand I needed to change — not how I cared for my kid but my point of view. I wasn’t expected to be a perfect Supermom, and knowing this made all the difference. The pressure I placed on myself to do all the things and be that Supermom fell away, finally allowing me to soar.
