My first baby was colicky. Not in a, “she cried sometimes” way. No, she screamed for hours every single night. We tried everything from chiropractors to medication. For months, I felt anxious and defeated. Some things helped, but we never quite found a perfect, long-term solution. It was just that hard.
Before I became a mom, I didn’t have any concept of “hard babies.” I had experience with kids and was a certified teacher. I entered motherhood confidently. Maybe a bit too confidently. I didn’t know some babies were more difficult than others.
After my first, I was terrified of a repeat experience. Despite this, I got pregnant with my second three years later. I was anxious that my second baby would be similar to my first. Motherhood was hard the first time around. I thought maybe that's just how it would be for me. So I prepared for a repeat experience.
In contrast, my second was a calm baby. He ate. He slept. He pooped. He did all the regular things you would typically prepare for. He cried when he was upset and was semi-easy to comfort when he wasn’t. So I became wracked with guilt when everything was so much … easier.
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I felt guilty my second baby was 'easier' than my first.
I hated thinking this. I hated feeling like I was comparing them. Sometimes I thought my second baby got a better mom than my first. And maybe, in a way, that was true. But it horrified me that my two different experiences as a mom were somehow wrong.
And then I simply realized each experience was just different. Not wrong. Not bad. Not easier or more difficult. Just different. Like my two babies, each experience was different. I was different.
Some things helped, I think. I recognized my partner and I were on the same team. I surrounded myself with a community, instead of isolating myself. I was overall more self-aware.
I did the work.
I went to therapy. I processed my traumatic birth and was given coping methods for those inevitable long days. I knew my triggers. And while I will never be a perfect (or a perfectly calm) mom, I know when I need to step away or step back. Now, instead of getting to the point where I feel like I’m drowning, I can find a life raft.
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I communicated.
I communicated with my spouse. I no longer expected him to read my mind (go figure!). We weren’t perfect by any means, but I knew if I was struggling, I needed to let him know. I knew if I needed a break or felt like I couldn't breathe, I needed to ask for it. Motherhood, and a difficult baby, taught me how to speak up. Not just for my children, but for myself.
I propelled myself toward a community.
As an introvert, it’s easy to gather myself in my shell. Especially during or after something traumatic. When things get hard, all I want to do is to be alone. This is easy in motherhood. It’s easy to pretend like you have it all together. It’s easier to hide until you feel like you do.
The second time around, I surrounded myself with people I knew cared about me. If no one made the effort, I did. Because I knew if I didn’t, I would gravitate toward my solitude.
I was aware.
With my first, I had no clue what to expect. With my second, I leaned to the side of over-preparedness. I was more aware of everything. Regardless of whether my second was a hard or easy baby, I knew the possibilities. There was no cautious optimism here. Just heaping amounts of cautiousness.
If my baby was crying, I would knock on doctors' doors for answers. If my days or nights were cloudy, I knew I needed to lean on those around me. Overall, I was also more aware some babies are hard. And that’s OK. Because hard babies are still pretty great ones.
Whether I had difficult or easy babies, I know my experiences and each of my babies made me the mother I am today.
