Hi friends. I’m over at The Lookout Magazine today talking about how in the early days of parenting, I tried to be a perfect mom and then eventually began to rely on God instead. Here’s an excerpt:
I had a conversation with myself this morning, and it went like this: âMy sonâs 20-month appointment is coming up. I should probably research what vaccines heâs going to get, but Iâm seeing Jayla today and I need to remember not to talk about it because she is very offended about vaccines.Â
âI wonder if heâs getting enough nutrition. He didnât eat fruit last week and has declared war on vegetables. Maybe he wonât grow this year. What if he doesnât grow? Must remember not to ask Betty about it because sheâs a vegan and would die if she knew my kid was on a steady diet of chicken and more chicken.Â
âHe didnât sleep last night. I wonder if heâs teething. Must remember not to mention that to Susanne because she believes in the attachment theory and would shame me forever if she knew I didnât go rock him back to sleep.âÂ
That sounds like a fun conversation to have with yourself at 6:30 a.m., right?
When I was a new mom, my friends surprised me: they loved me in ways I didn’t know I needed. This is a post from the archives about what I learned about caring for friends going through postpartum after experiencing it myself. This conversation is by no means complete, so if you have anything to add–jump in the comments and let’s learn from each other.
Originally written May 13, 2013.
On a Tuesday afternoon, a week after Keegan was born, my phone rang. I recognized the area code, so I answered, hoping it would be someone with answers to something.
âHello?â
âHi, is this Anne Wilson?â
âYes.â
âHi, Anne! Iâm one of the nurses from your hospital. I was just calling to check in and see how you and your baby are doing.â
âOk.â
âSo . . . how are you doing?â
âI donât know.â
âYou donât know? Honey, are you crying?â
âYes.â
âOh, sweetheart. Itâs going to get better. I wouldnât go back to the first few weeks with my first for anything. I know itâs so hard right now, but it does get better.â
âWhen? When does it get better?â
I was standing in my kitchen, letting the tears flow into the sink with water running, hurling down handfuls of granola, forcing myself to eat somethingâanythingâthat resembled nourishment and substance. I was in full-on-ugly-cry-mode, the kind that makes everyone in the room uncomfortable, and all I could think was, âWhen will this baby sleep?â I was exhausted, nerve-wracked, and recovering from a serious surgery. All my hopes and dreams of childbirth, nursing, and motherhood seemed to be laughing back at me and the only word that came to mind when I looked into my sonâs eyes was simply . . .
FAILURE.
Nothing was going as I planned. Nothing seemed to work. Where was this feeling of euphoric love mothers wrote about, spoke about, told stories about? I didnât feel it; I could only think about sleep. And now that I know him, I so desperately wish I could go back to that time, stare that woman in the face, and say, âYou can do this. All those people who say âitâs going to get betterâ? Theyâre not lying to you. It will.â
A few friends have asked us since if there was anything that would have helped us through that time. And honestly, there isnât. We just had to make it through. But, there are some words of wisdom I can share with those that are close to someone going through postpartum.
A few disclaimers:Â I am not a psychologist or a doctor. I write this purely as someone whoâs been there, not an expert. Also, every woman is different. Some may snap out of it (like I did), and for some, it may linger for months, if not years. If you are close to a woman battling postpartum depression, be her advocate and delicately tell her if you think she may be suffering from depression. There is no shame in getting help.
1.   Love her well, and from a distance.
I donât mean that you canât go over to her house. I wanted to show Keegan off to the entire world. But try not overstay your welcome, as it can be very nerve-wracking for the new mother (and father). Sheâs just trying to keep her head on her body, and the added pressure of hosting a guest for a long period can be a little much.
2.   Be specific.
Most mothers Iâve talked to arenât sure how to brush their teeth during the newborn fog. So when someone says, âJust let me know if I can help you!â itâs overwhelming and quite frankly, goes unnoticed. We know the intentions are genuine, but we donât know what to say back. Instead, offer to do something very specific, like, âCan I come rock a screaming baby for you?â or, âCan I come do your laundry?â or, âCan I come clean your kitchen?â Then follow that with, âGive me a time and Iâll be there, no pressure to entertain me.â Then? Show up. One of my friends came over one morning, and after leaving her downstairs for five minutes, I came down to a clean kitchen and empty dishwasher. I couldâve cried. Another friend came one night while Keegan had been screaming 2+ hours and rocked him to sleep while we sat on the couch and stared at each other. Had we had the hydration necessary to produce real tears, Kyle and I both would have cried.
3.   Just go with it.
Your friend might not be recognizable to you for a month (or two, or three). Just go with it. You may go days (or weeks) without hearing back from her after youâve texted or called. Choose not to be offended. Try to avoid comments (even joking) about how sheâs âa little hormonalâ or âgoing crazy.â She knows sheâs not quite herself, and she wishes she was, and all she needs now is encouragement, love, and support. Save the jokes for a year from now. Theyâll (most likely) be funny then. But not yet.
4.   Feed them.
During our first weekend home with Keegan, Kyle and I went an entire day without eating real food. No, we didnât eat paper, but we chugged down glasses of milk as substitutes for food because we were that sleep-deprived. I was so grateful for all the people who brought us meals that took mere seconds to prepare. If I thought about it before, I wouldâve drafted a letter to give each one of them about the meaning of food and how their gift was like a thousand birthdays. Because it was.
5.   Give the husband a big hug. And a cup of coffee.
I canât speak to this because Iâm not the husband, but from the wifeâs perspective, I wish I could go back to that time and thank him so much more than I did. He did everything for us those first few weeks, and I didnât have the energy to give him the thanks he deserved.
So thereâs my non-professional input on how to help a friend who just brought a bundle of screaming love home from the hospital. She is going to be wearing different skin for a while, and thatâs okay. Just go with it.
 A few years ago, we were living pretty disconnected and frazzled lives. Kyle and I barely passed each other in and out the door each night, and we were beginning to deprive one another of companionship. When we had Keegan, we decided to make some significant changes in our family rhythms to create a slower life, and in doing so–we redefined the word “boring.”
I’m over at Today’s Christian Woman this week talking about how embracing the mundane has changed the rhythm of our family, and also my spiritual life. See the article here.
Mommas who send your little people off to someone else while you work: I know the complicated feelings so well. If youâre anything like me, you feel a mixture of so many things when you drive away: guilt, shame, jealousy, pride, relief, and the list goes on. You possibly wonder if your child will grow up to resent you or love someone else more than you, and maybeâif youâre like meâyou feel guilty for enjoying your quiet morning commute.
I want to pop in today for just a quick moment to say something to you, as a friend. I remember the first time Keegan ran to his babysitter instead of me. He saw her from across the room in a public space, and he started pointing to her, flinging his arms open to be held by her. I knew, of course, that this day was comingâand I had anticipated all kinds of guilty feelings for this day. But to my surprise, I was met with very different feelings–ones of peace, joy, contentment, and above all, gratitude.
Here’s a picture of my boy, by the way. Clearly loving his life.
Everyone wins when we allow other people into our kidsâ lives. We win, and our children win. Itâs okay that our kids have added heroes in their lives besides us; in fact, it’s good. Because no matter how many trusted adults we allow into their circles, we are the only ones who can be their moms.
So hereâs my quick note to say: carry on, momma. Your little ones are having a blast. Itâs okay if your little guy runs to someone else sometimes because no one can replace your role as his mom. We need other adults to love our children well in places we cannot, because weâre not perfect (or omnipotent)–and they need so much more than we can give. Itâs really, truly good.
âYou know the only people who are always sure about the proper way to raise children? Those who’ve never had any.â (Bill Cosby)
Truer words have yet to be spoken.
I confess, I was a little afraid of myself pre-parenting. I thought I would fight the comparison-game, size up other parents and wonder whose kid was better at eating organic carrots. I envisioned long days sitting outside of pre-school pickup, dodging other moms with fear of judgment and scowling.
But Iâve been shocked (and relieved) to find the very opposite. When I see a mom of three shoving goldfish into her kidsâ mouths in the checkout lane, trying desperately to get them to be quiet and leave the store with limbs attached, all I think to myself is, âSolidarity, Momma. Solidarity.â Or when I see a mom going through the Drive-Thru at McDonaldâs ordering a 3rd round of chicken nuggets, I just think, âDo work, girl. Do. Work.â
And just when I thought I was heading into the most judgmental season of life, where moms everywhere stared at one another and we all wanted to hide, I found the opposite. Instead I found companionship, support, and love. My inbox flooded with prayers, support, and encouragement. All I really feel is one big metaphorical hug from Mom-land.
I know Mom-wars are out there, but I havenât fought them. What Iâve found instead is a group ready to support, give pats on the back in the grocery store, offer a shoulder on the strung-out days, and laugh when someoneâs kid is having a meltdown in Aisle 8. Weâre trying. Weâre all trying. And I could care less if you bottle-feed or breastfeed, co-sleep or have-that-baby-in-the-crib-on-night-one, stay-at-home or send your kids to daycare. You know what? Weâre all trying. And weâre all different. Let’s hug.
Cheers to you, Mommas. And an extra-special thanks to those of you working hard to make this space one thatâs ready to embrace those of us who still arenât wearing mascara in public. We know we look a mess, and weâre thankful for you.
By the way, this is what Keegan really looked like yesterday.