Week Three: What is Sleep Again?

I know a thing or two about sleep, and I’m not just speaking of the way I successfully got 8-9 hours of sleep each night pre-baby. I did, and it was glorious (and necessary). However, I also took a class in grad school on sleep: Sleep, Surrender, and Sabbath. I read Dr. William Dement’s book on sleep in its entirety, and I became an avid advocate for sleep amidst a sea of sleep-deprived friends and family.

I know sleep (but I will spare you all the lectures I have prepared for those who underestimate the power of sleep), which is why I know that it is completely normal for me to feel terribly and horribly out of sorts during this “what is sleep again?” phase of motherhood. Week three was so much better on many other counts- his nursing has gone from a D- the first week, to a C the second week, to a B+ the third week. Serious improvement.

However, the lack of sleep aspect of my new life becomes compounded as the days go by, resulting in an episode last Thursday evening during which I thought I might actually go crazy if I did not sleep more than 3 hours in a row- THAT NIGHT! So, I pumped and AJ fed Briggs with a bottle, and I slept SEVEN hours in a row. Now, perhaps only new moms will fully appreciate the significance of that statement. And again the next night, I slept nearly the same amount!

One might think this put me in mommy heaven. And it did, to a certain extent. I was much more productive in the days following, but as grateful as I was for those two 7-hour stints (which, I might remind you, is still less than I was sleeping PER NIGHT prior to baby), my “what is sleep again?” headache remains with me. The arithmetic of sleep during this period of my life reveals severe sleep deprivation. This, as I learned from Dr. Dement, is my sleep debt.

And let me tell you….I owe a BIG sleep debt to myself.

So the moral of my third week sleep story is this: Although I am sleeping for longer stretches after re-arranging my routine and attitude toward feeding Briggs vs. my personal need for sleep, I am still utterly and completely tired. Mostly all the time.

I love Briggs; I love holding him, whispering loving thoughts as I gaze at his beautiful face. I love being his mom. But I do NOT love the lack of sleep- and I don’t believe there is any need to sugar coat this aspect of motherhood, because sleep is important. This is what I know about myself: I am a better person when I sleep well, and no amount of loving affection will erase my physiological sleep debt.

So here’s to all the ways that poetic sayings like, “love makes us do crazy things,” and “it’s worth it in the end,” and “believe it or not, you will miss this phase” get new mothers through the “what is sleep again?” stage of parenting.

Make no mistake, poetic thoughts are nice (perhaps necessary for some) but the need to attend to my sleep debt deserves my full attention, and I will continue to take sleep as seriously as I learned in my grad school course.

Here's my poetic plea: Sleep, please come back soon, I miss you.

It (slowly) Gets Better

My last post was true, raw, and a bit disheartening to any expectant first-time mothers. Although I definitely don’t apologize for sharing my first week story, I am happy to share a somewhat different story from week two. It was better.

Home together all week, we had plenty of Mommy and Me time

First of all, my own health immediately improved after beginning the antibiotics for mastitis, my nipples healed, and after several exhausting days, Briggs finally learned to latch! Breastfeeding is one of those topics that I previously thought little about, other than, “well of course I will breastfeed my baby!” After all, my sister makes it look so easy, and the literature is ripe with the benefits, basically suggesting that new moms who have difficulty breastfeeding should never stop trying. What the literature largely lacks is the honest truth about the tedious, painful, and exhausting road some babies and mothers embark upon in order to reach the glorious “pleasant and enjoyable experience” of breastfeeding.

Ugh. It was NOT pleasant or enjoyable for me, even in week two. Especially when I contemplate that I spend AT LEAST 8 hours a day with Briggs at my breast, it makes sense that the amount of time people pour into full-time jobs was basically the amount of time I spent demoralized about our latching issues. Now shortly into week three, I am thrilled to say that we are getting the hang of it. So I say kudos to the breastfeeding experts who acknowledge that what may be natural is certainly not easy, or necessarily enjoyable. It’s hard work, perhaps harder work than I’ve encountered in quite awhile.

But on to the positive. My mother (who, by the way, helped out immensely my first week at home and is the reason AJ & I stayed sane) said my last post lacked anything positive, so here goes… Here are a few things that made week two better than week one:

1.       I could move around with less thought regarding stitches, pain, etc.

2.       I took a few walks that did not end with me out of breath after 5 minutes.

3.       I was able to discontinue my pain meds.

4.       I received more sleep (not enough sleep, simply more) than week one.

5.       I established a routine of sorts for when, where, and how to care for myself.

6.       I lost a considerable amount of weight- always a plus!

7.       My appetite improved, although so did my intake of junk food. Oops!

8.       I had more energy to put toward celebrating the beauty of Briggs’ creation with my husband.

9.       AJ & I went on our first date away from Briggs (Although I admit it felt weird).

I 0.    I spent a considerable amount of time staring into the eyes of the baby God gave us.

Week two was better.

And week three is off to an excellent start. Here’s to living into the words that many mothers have shared with me- it gets (slowly) better.

Thoughts on Being a New Mom

Briggs Allen Munger has arrived! And we are so grateful for his health, his dashingly handsome appearance, and his relatively generous sleep patterns. Born at 8 lbs 11oz and 20.5 inches long, he was born the exact average birth weight of his parents. He eats well, is rarely fussy, and is overall a really great baby.

Now on to motherhood. My reflections are in no way a scale of my love for Briggs, because I honestly couldn’t love him any more or less. He is my son, and when I let myself think about the implications of that statement, I am blown away with awe.

Still, being a new mom is dangerously difficult. I say dangerously in part because as a stable, privileged American mom with a great support network, I can actually say I understand the impetus behind mothers who commit tragic atrocities against their children in the throes of being new moms. I of course do not condone such actions, but I understand them now in a way my pre-baby self simply could not. If I think about my past week-and-a-half while simultaneously stripping away my support network, income privileges, education, sound mental health, environmental calm, etc., I am honestly not sure how I would have gotten through without dangerous thoughts.

I’m not attempting to be dramatic. Rather, I hope to draw attention to the moments of frustration—almost anger—I have recently experienced to highlight what often goes unsaid (by new mothers included) in the first weeks of being a mommy. First this- the congratulations are great, the words of encouragement appreciated, and the feel of a newborn in my arms is wonderful. But none of these override the exhaustion; the difficulty balancing care for self, infant care, and spousal inclusion; remembering to take meds; constantly second-guessing all the knowledge I so dutifully absorbed pre-baby; the fever, chills, light-headed feeling, and massive headache of mastitis; sore breasts (to the point of making showering a painful task); recovering from the bodily trauma of delivery, and trying to overlook all the housework that I so desperately wanted to complete.

If I were to think theoretically about this, I might say my experience confirms Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, in which an individual requires certain need thresholds be met in order to be motivated toward obtaining the next tier of needs. The foundational needs are as follows: food, sex, sleep, excretion, breathing, water, and homeostasis. I was meeting exactly three of the seven, although breathing was occasionally difficult, I needed to be reminded to eat, and despite the gallons of water I drank, I was slightly dehydrated for days.

And so my frustrations begin to make sense. I could not care adequately for myself, so the “joys of motherhood” that I so desperately wanted to experience eluded me. This is not to say that I didn’t have moments of joy, because I couldn’t help but discover joy in Briggs’ serene face after a feeding. He is truly remarkable, and it gives me pleasure holding him while he happily coos.

Even so, being a new mom is not romantic. It is not a time filled with rainbows and butterflies. It is a time when you fear pulling your stitches out maintaining basic bodily functions. It is a time when you lie awake at night, wondering if someone will pop into your room at 4am to take your blood pressure or ask what picture to use for the hospital birth announcement. It is a time your hormones overtake your body, causing you to cry when your husband reminds you to take your prenatal vitamin. It is a time when your nipples hurt so badly you think about ways to discipline your (innocent) newborn. It is a time that lasts for eternity, causing you to wonder if you will someday change out of your nursing nightgown? It is a time your body and mind are not quite in sync, and the process of aligning the two often turns into tears.

Perhaps new mothers have spoken about this dangerously difficult first few weeks and I have simply not listened. This is possible, because who wants to think their first week home with an adorable baby will be THAT difficult? Perhaps it’s not so difficult for every new mom, but I write this for myself, I write this for new moms who need to be validated in their experience, and I write this for the sake of truth-telling.

My first week of being a new mom was not awesome. There, I said it. Positive, happy-go-lucky Emily did not have a great week. Week two now, and I’m still in the throes of this experience, but I’m sleeping more, taking fewer meds, my stitched parts have healed, and I am more confident about how to handle various situations. Even so, Briggs and I are still working on his latching issues, I’m still fighting off mastitis, and those pesky hormones still arise to remind me of how well I cry.

I will save my moments of joy for another post. Rest assured I have them, and I’m becoming more confident that one day this whole mothering routine will suite me, but for now I’d like to keep this post focused on the difficult truth of my first week as a new mom- it wasn’t wonderful. Here’s to a better week two.