Motherhood isn’t a roller coaster.  It’s bumper cars.
“Get your sleep now, you’re going to need it!”
“You wouldn’t believe how long it takes to fold a basket of baby clothes!”
“You’ll be lucky to get a shower in before dinner!”
I thought I knew what to expect. Everybody had advice to offer, most of it genuinely kind. I would be tired; there would be diapers and spit-up; my husband and I would re-negotiate our carefully balanced chores and responsibilities. But really, I thought to myself, how hard could it be?
Hard.
Very hard.
So hard that I found myself thinking, Why didn’t anybody warn me?
I entered the delivery room thinking that motherhood would be like a roller coaster. Oxytocin-fueled joy would alternate with wistful thoughts of my previous freedom. I would get through each rough patch with the thought of the next wave of good times. Up, down, up, down, with a predictable pattern.
In my experience (all three months of it), motherhood – parenthood – is more like bumper cars.
There is always wonder. The same wonder I felt when, as a kid, I got behind the wheel of a bumper car. They’re letting me drive! This is great! I brought this baby home! We get to keep her! That feeling persists, even as – smack! – the other cars start to collide with me. My daughter wants to eat every hour, on the hour, turning the anticipated bonding time into the five stages of grief each time I hear her hungry wail. She’s not hungry, just tired. Can’t you see how exhausted I am – what else do you want from me? If I feed her now, maybe she’ll go two hours next time. I can’t face this anymore, I’ve made a huge mistake. Ok, ok, she’s just a baby and she needs to eat – we’ll get through it, it won’t always be like this. She screams for what feels like hours, overstimulated, overtired, frustrated (in my projection) at my inability to meet her needs. Babies cry the most before ten weeks, it’s just a stage, it won’t always be like this.
Just when I’ve got the hang of it and I’m moving forward, another car comes flying out of nowhere to knock me off course. She’s sleeping through the night? Goodbye naptime! She’s eating at regular, sane intervals? Hello one enormous bowel movement per day! She finally tolerates bathtime? Prepare for screaming bloody murder when you take her out of the water!
Throughout it all remains the sense of wonder. Throughout it all remains the bittersweet thought. It won’t always be like this.
She won’t always wake up three times during the night. She won’t always be small enough to lie along my forearm. She won’t always wait until I’ve started changing her poopy diaper to let loose with a stream of pee. She won’t always depend on me for all her needs. She won’t always need me to protect her. I won’t always be able to protect her.
Until then, I’m taking her to ride the bumper cars the first chance I get.