As I sat there feeding my baby, for what I figured to be about the 450th time already in his young life, give or take a few feedings (middle-of-the-night math can be difficult), I thought back over the past eight weeks. As the memories and feelings flooded over me, I knew I needed to write. I needed to put words to the feelings and give them a place where they can be permanent before they find their way into that locked portion of my brain, the place that holds those little day-to-day memories, things I think I'll remember but then can never find again. Before these memories join the memory of Connor learning to walk, Mariah's first words, or the great idea I got in Sunday School just last week, but now can't remember.
I started out tired. The on-again-off-again two day labor, combined with his 4am birth robbed me of a lot of sleep. At first, though, I didn't notice it much. The excitement of having him here kept me going. The first week was full of time with family. We headed to a Micheli family reunion when Lewis was two days old, then to Cokeville for Thanksgiving the very next week. Lewis was so new and tiny, and I knew it wouldn't last long. I held him a lot and loved how his body molded to mine in the way that only a newborn baby can. I loved nestling his little head into my neck and then bending my head forward and inhaling deep, taking in that newborn baby smell.
The first crying came when my milk came in. I don't know how it is for other mothers, but for me, this is fairly traumatic. For some reason, my body doesn't register the amount of milk my baby actually needs, and produces enough for me to start feeding quadruplets! The pain was incredible, and I sank into a bath in the reunion guest house in the middle of the night and cried. More loss of sleep.
For about ten days, I dreaded feeding time. This was my fifth baby, so I knew things would get better, but my nipples were horribly cracked and every one of Lewis's amateur attempts at latching on to feed was met with my gritted teeth and tense body, bracing myself for the pain. More tears. Tears because it hurt, but also the first tears of guilt.
We made it home from Thanksgiving, and entered "real life." I now had to cook, clean, and take care of the kids without all the help of family every minute. And it wasn't just regular real life, it was also December. Time to put up the decorations, go to the kids' Christmas programs, and do all the other Christmas things that "needed" to get done. By the second week of December, I needed a break. It worked out perfectly that Tony needed to deliver some bulls across the state, and Lewis and I were able to join him for an overnight getaway. I was going to just sit in the truck and not worry about a thing. My nipples were nearly healed by now, and physically I was starting to feel a lot better. We got a hotel with a hot tub and also went out to dinner. But I didn't feel well. I was exhausted, fevered, and scared to death because of the hot pain in my right breast. Mastitis. No! I was finally feeling better, and now this? I just wanted to feel normal again so I could truly enjoy my baby. And then the guilt again.
The mastitis cleared up within a few days, and I really felt pretty good. Good thing, because there was so much to do! I had four older kids who needed me, and I really wanted to be there for them. I needed to help them with homework, read with them, play with them, talk to them, and try to find some one-on-one moments with each of them. Oh, and I really wanted this Christmas to be great for them, too! So we forged ahead with all our Christmas traditions--a nightly knock and run, "hay in the manger" activity, family Christmas shopping, delivering goodies to neighbors, nightly reading by the Christmas tree, and a family trip to Salt Lake City. In addition, I had baking to do, stocking stuffers to buy, and gifts to wrap. Oh, and my family still needed to be fed, laundry never stopped piling up, I had church duties to fulfill, and the house kept getting dirty. Oh ya, and I had a month-old baby who really wanted to spend his days being either held or fed.
I wanted to enjoy Christmas. Really, I did. But there was a cloud closing in on me. I knew what it was because I had felt it before, when Brady was a baby. It was that dark cloud that made it difficult to see things clearly. The cloud that makes you feel like you're not doing anything well, you're letting everybody down, and that you are inadequate as a mother. The cloud that leads you to your bed with your back turned to your family, crying because you can't will yourself to get up and do anything for anybody. Hopefully they'll just think you're taking a nap. And then the guilt that you're feeling that way in the first place presses the cloud down even closer.
At least I knew what it was this time and recognized it for that. I knew I needed to do things to help lift the cloud, but my first few attempts just caused more guilt. Go do something fun with the kids. But there is so much that I'm not getting done at the house. (Guilt.) Get something done at home. Just pick one thing and do it and then you'll feel a lot better. But now I'm not spending time with my kids. (Guilt.) And shouldn't you just slow down with everything and enjoy that baby? You haven't done that nearly enough this month. You promised yourself before he was born that you were going to do better than just survive this time. You were going to enjoy this new baby stage. (Major Guilt.) Why don't you quit crying and be grateful you have a baby? This should bring nothing but joy. There are so many out there who would give anything to have just one child. You have five. What is your problem? (Greatest guilt of all.)
And then near the end of the Christmas break, the cloud lifted a bit. It was a mixture of things, I suppose. Some time with family, a clean house, a little shopping spree, a choice to just buy food and delegate for Lewis's blessing dinner (I don't have to be super mom and make a home-cooked meal for 40, right?) and honestly, probably a hormonal shift of some kind. Let's give those hormones a little credit here. By Sunday night, I was ready to send the kids off to school, get back in our regular schedule, and attack those New Years Resolutions. I should have known better...
Monday night, Lewis was up all night crying. Tuesday was rough, and Tuesday night, more of the same. Wednesday morning I finally took him into the doctor. My suspicions were confirmed. He had RSV. We came home with him on oxygen and with a supply of breathing treatments to administer every three hours as well as a nasal suction machine to use on him as often as needed. I realized that my to-do list needed to take a back seat until we got this baby well. I also feared for myself. I didn't want that cloud to come crashing back down on me, just when I was feeling the relief of having it subside. Then I saw this:
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As I read this quote, it sounded right and good at first. And I suppose that in some ways, it is. But the more I thought on it, the more it bothered me. So, does this mean that blessings won't come until after the battle is over? At the rate I'm going, there will just be something else next week, and probably the week after that. Certainly a loving Heavenly Father doesn't withhold blessings until after the battle. No. He blesses us in some way each and every day. I realized that I needed to find those blessings and be grateful IN my circumstance, even if I don't feel grateful FOR the circumstance.
I thought about this, and it didn't take me long to realize that a huge blessing I have received in the last two months is that I have been able to witness the goodness in others. When we came home from the reunion, there were good women from our ward that brought meals in to our family. They were busy, I'm sure, but found time to help me. My mother gave me the easy job for Thanksgiving dinner, and all I had to do was bring the juice. She also took Brady for a couple days while I recovered from the birth. One of Tony's sisters offered to watch our kids so we could go to the temple. My mother-in-law took an entire day out of her schedule to travel to Ogden and watch Lewis while I went to the temple again to witness a friend go through for the first time. One sister-in-law was willing to do Mylie's hair for her Christmas program because I couldn't work that into my schedule, and another was understanding when I cancelled plans on her because I was feeling overwhelmed. Many have offered to take my kids so I can get some rest. And many have showed so much concern in the past week for Lewis's health and my well-being.
My love for my husband has grown as he has been my rock. He is willing to do anything for me. He has taken over all 2-year-old night waking, breakfast making most days, and has vacuumed more than he ever wanted to, I'm sure. He can sense when I'm becoming overwhelmed and he quietly steps in and does something to lighten the load. He is there for me when I cry and always reassures me that I'm being a great mother.
Connor has helped me with so many little things, like going out in the cold to get potatoes from out outdoor storage. I've noticed him not complaining when I ask him to clean his room or help Brady with things. Mylie is Lewis's second mother. She has helped so much with him, especially when I am busy making dinner or doing other things. One Sunday morning, she even got him up when he cried, changed his diaper, dressed him in his church clothes, and held him until he was hungry while I slept in. Mariah cleaned our bathrooms for the entire month of December and did a fabulous job of it, too! What a load off of me to not worry about that chore. And Brady did what he does best--he made me smile. Every day.
Above all, my Heavenly Father has been there for me every step of the way. He has answered my prayers, given me peace, increased my strength, and sent me little messages of love. One came at the most perfect time, and in an unexpected way as I found an article online that I felt had been written just for me. It just "happened" to be in my FB news feed on the day I needed its message the most. (
http://www.deseretnews.com/article/765602104/Dear-sweet-mom-who-feels-like-shes-failing.html)
That's what I needed to record. Before I forget. I needed to record many of the thoughts and feelings I have had over the past couple months. But more than that, I needed to record what I learned. I seem to learn lessons, and then have to relearn them over and over. I want to do better. So the lesson is this: While I don't know what tomorrow will bring, I have learned that no matter what, there will be a blessing. I just need to find it.
