Dimples and Super Mom

"There is no way to be a perfect mother, and a million ways to be a good one." -Jill Churchill

After a long night of trying to get Tug to sleep in his crib (he wanted to sleep in his swing or in my arms) I finally gave in at two in the morning and just stuck him in his swing so I could get a few hours of sleep before work. Poor Tyler was already exhausted and I wasn't about to wake him again. Because I was so tired I woke up half an hour late. Using my mad mommy skills I managed to feed Tug, burp him and do my makeup at the same time.

Then I was dropping off Tug at my mom's house before work. I got him out of his car seat to kiss him goodbye when suddenly his acid reflux took over and he spit up all over my black dress pants. After such a crazy night I was ready to cry. But then I looked at his sweet little face. He was grinning right at me. The dimples in his cheeks and those big blue eyes melted my heart, and instead of crying I kissed his fluffy head and told him how much I love him.

I have always wanted a baby with dimples. I remember hearing Angela say cheerfully, "He's got dimples!!!" As she was cleaning Tug after he was born. Those were the magic words and I began to cry, I was so happy. I once heard that dimples were angel kisses. Every time I see Tug smile and those dimples show I can't help but tear up because he is my angel. So innocent, loving and fresh from heaven.

Before I became a mom I had this image imprinted in my mind of what a good mom looked like. In my mind the perfect mother was pretty much Super Mom. She was always pretty and presentable. Her voice was soft and nurturing. She was fit and energetic. A spotless home, a clean and healthy baby, and a loving husband who never needed to rescue her from stressful moments because there weren't any. This was what I expected of myself after we brought Tug home. And I was in for a rude awakening.

I learned quickly that as long as Tug was clean, healthy and happy everything else could wait. I remember crying the first week because I didn't have time or was too tired and sore to even shower. I refused Tyler's help or anyone's help for that matter. I wanted to do it by myself. I wanted to be Super Mom. Finally Tyler took Tug from me, and he made me shower and sleep. I reluctantly agreed but felt like a failure because I couldn't do it all. I remember crying on the bathroom floor and praying for some form of comfort and strength to do what only Super Mom could do. And then it hit me... As long as Tug was happy, in his eyes I WAS Super Mom.

I eventually learned that Tyler was more than willing to help out, as well as my mom and mother-in-law. And that it was OK to ask for help and take a break.

Being a mom is not quite what I imagined. Sometimes everything is one big mess. Sometimes I'm the big mess. And all the time I keep thinking how much I love Tug. So much more than I could ever imagine. But seeing those dimples remind me that I am Super Mom. Tug's Super Mom.

Half Way Wednesday, Pet Peeve Thursday

Today work was so slow... So I started a blog! :) 

This week, not unlike most weeks, has been pretty crazy for us. Tug got his two month old shots on Monday (we were actually on time! Score for the newby parents!) and I'm sure from that you can guess how the first half of our week has been so far. Today I went to work running on two hours of sleep. (Yay for mommy energy!!!) Despite the fact he is sore and uncomfortable he has been really good about it. Unfortunately the shots have thrown off his groove, so we have to start sleep training all over again. 

For those of you who don't know, I suffer from severe Postpartum Depression. I tried really hard for a long time to get better on my own and avoid medication. But after my co-workers began to notice and became concerned about my mental health, I finally agreed to see my doctor. I'm on my way to getting better, and I hope that by writing this blog and staying positive I'll be able to recover and get back to my normal self.

 

Every week it gets harder and harder for me to leave Tug and go to work for six hours. That's six hours of my child's life that I'll never get back. And for me, my work is never done. I go to work, I come home and then my most important job takes over and I work my mommy shift  all the way up until it's time for me to go back to work. Which makes me think the term "working mom" is a redundant phrase. 

 

During these long weeks I keep thinking, "Just make it to Wednesday." That's the half way point for me and I know if I can make it to Wednesday then I will survive the rest of the week. Except Thursdays.  I am not a fan of Thursdays. Thursdays are miserable because they are ALMOST Friday. Thursday means you still have one more day to go. It reminds me of when I ran the Ragnar Relay when I was fourteen. The worst part about the whole race for me was the "One mile to go!" sign at the end of every leg. That last mile felt like ten. I remember thinking the next exchange zone was just around the corner or just over the hill and then I'd get there and still the end was not in sight. That is pretty much how my Thursdays go. But today is Wednesday. I've made it this far, I know I can make it to Friday!