So I Guess I’ll Just Sleep When I’m Dead Then
When my midwife asked at my one-month postpartum visit if I was getting any sleep, I don’t even think I responded. Just shot her a blank stare. When she then told me that new mothers really should be getting 4 hours at a time, I laughed out loud.
What even is uninterrupted sleep anymore? How the hell am I supposed to make that happen?
I’ve dealt with insomnia for a decade, but nothing can prepare you for the exhaustion of motherhood. It’s like some next-level, POW-type nonsense that will make you a real-life zombie who can’t even recall basic information (e.g. I genuinely thought that my house number was 501 instead of 504 for a full two weeks). And not to dismiss all you ladies who formula feed, but breastfeeding takes more passive energy than I thought humanly possible. The fact that I can sit on my ass for 5 or 6 hours a day and burn the same amount of calories as a 6-mile run is incredible to me. Let’s be honest, I’m still working on toning my postpartum tummy. But I digress.
I’m that person who worked two jobs throughout most of my college career and somehow graduated with honors. I began grad school at 9 weeks pregnant in my third month of marriage, while working full-time. I “extended my maternity leave” by quitting my job and was able to finish my program when my son was only 3-and-a-half months old, taking 4 classes over the summer with a 3.9 GPA. I am not offering these anecdotes to elevate myself — although I am very proud. I am offering them to provide anyone reading this with a sense of how hard-working and resilient I am. But motherhood has hands-down been the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. And friends, I am struggling.
Sleep when the baby sleeps, they say, but how then does one accomplish anything? The nights are long and the days are demanding. Despite the second and third months after cluster feeding subsided, where the babe was sleeping for up to 6 hours in the first stretch (thank ya, Jesus), I have been getting up anywhere from 3–6 times a night. Because the 4-month sleep regression is real. So real. Add an infant cold to the mix (a clogged duct for me PLUS a cold), and you’re on the edge of a psychological cliff. Furthermore, when you’re sitting up uncomfortably in bed and trying to stay awake while your husband snores next to you — nursing for an average of 45 minutes at a time — it can be hard not to resent the guy.
But he was not made for this facet of parenthood, with the capacity to give of his own body to nourish our child; I was.
This is a necessary reminder to preserve both my sanity and my mothering instincts. It is not a competition of who does more for our family or who takes time for themselves the least. It is a complicated dance of discerning who is responsible for which part of our son’s day and development. We are both stewards of this little life between us. And we must be patient with one another as we navigate these muddy waters. We must be attentive to each other’s needs, whether they be seemingly big or small. This is much easier said than done when it falls on me alone to feed our child and comfort him in a way that my husband simply can’t.
So no, I am not sleeping when the baby sleeps. I’m hardly sleeping at all. I can likely count the number of naps I’ve had since he was born on one hand. Lately, I feel like I can barely function. I feel like I’m experiencing my own regression, doing the bare minimum and not much else. It’s demoralizing. But it keeps me humble. This stay-at-home-mom gig is no joke, and there’s no amount of tea even for me that can make this easier.
There is only the grace of God.
