Goooood morning!
My baby is smiling, the sun is shining, and my neighbor’s daffodils are starting to bloom. It is March, and spring is a-coming. I feel invigorated. Until I realize that March is almost April, and April is the end of my maternity leave. Yeesh. That’s a really scary thought.
When I gave birth to Reva, I was working for myself (with a business partner) on a frozen food business. Yes, if you didn’t know, I once was a frozen pizza slinger. I had a much more flexible work situation (and no real income) but I also didn’t have a true maternity leave. I felt antsy about getting back “to myself” and was answering emails in between naps, taking calls, and so on, almost from day one. I attribute this to some combo of the reality of entrepreneurship, as well as a desperation to “bounce back” professionally after having a baby, and the crazy time that is postpartum, especially your first time.
I was determined to get Reva on a schedule so that I could map out some time to work with a little predictability. I read the books, I called the sleep coaches, I took every morsel of advice as the bible and was petrified of breaking the rules. I didn’t let her fall asleep while nursing, I delayed the pacifier, I made sure that most of her naps were at home in the crib, I closed the shades and I lived inside a white noise machine. I did everything they told me to do and I believed that a single minute unaccounted for would cause an avalanche of unpredictability and regret.
And I’m not going to say that I wasn’t happy when she was finally on a schedule. I was happy, and she was thriving, and at the time it was the right decision for our family. But what I didn’t understand back then was how short the newborn phase truly is and how quickly they grow out of it. Before you know it, they’re three and a half and opening their own door to slide into your bed at 3AM and playing with your hair and borrowing your lipstick and having strong opinions? Who would have thought.
This time, I have a more traditional job (working for someone else) that blessedly came with a real maternity leave and I decided even before Joseph arrived earthside that I was going to lean into it. Minimal email checking, no Slack, no calls unless absolutely mission critical, and just all baby all the time. I did have a brief insane moment of trying to “make the most” of my leave by signing up for an online writing course, but luckily I shut down that idea in my head fast and furiously. What was I thinking?
I wasn’t just going to slam my laptop shut. I was also going to try and soak up every ounce of Joseph that I could. I was going to go easy on myself and prioritize me and the baby. That’s it. Nursing, napping together, allowing Joseph to fall asleep on my chest, going for long walks in the park, baby-wearing, not always being productive, not cooking, not forcing myself to exercise, and not trying to put Joseph on any kind of feeding or sleeping schedule. I really wanted the days to be as easy and relaxed as they could be.
Despite my pre-baby ideas, a few weeks ago, I randomly decided to read a new-to-me book about baby sleep. A little refresher before I go back to work and do truly need more regime, I thought to myself. I swallowed the whole thing in one sleepless night. And then, because the book made everything seem easy, I decided to implement some tactics sooner rather than later. Even though I was enjoying our days, unpredictable as they were, the book made baby sleep seem so simple. Just space out the feedings. Institute an “eat, play, sleep” routine. Wake baby to eat every two or so hours. And on, and on, and on. Little morsels of pediatric-approved information that promised to make the clock of my life tick on time. And it was fine, I could tell almost immediately that there was something to the logic in the book and that the previously amorphous day did start to hold shape more concretely with a these suggestions.
But now, instead of existing in the haze of maternity leave and newborn motherhood, I was watching the clock and monitoring the time constantly, incessantly, and unnecessarily. “Ok so he fell asleep at 1, which means he needs to eat 3, so that he can be up for his 6pm.” And then when he inevitably got off the schedule, because he is a 7-week old baby, I would have to start strategizing about how to get back on the horse. I spent all day solving math problems. And I’m really bad at math.
And then it hit me: I was not enjoying this new job I’d given myself. I had been perfectly happy to make my days all about Joseph. I was fine to feed him on demand, to put him to sleep when he looked tired, and to let him rest longer than two hours if he felt like it because he was gaining weight appropriately. I was mostly okay waking up at night to feed him and napping during the day to make up for it. Most importantly, despite the exhaustion, I was enjoying living in the present moment of my life. Little sleep, lots of love, the sweetest baby kisses and cuddles, and often having no idea what time it was or what day it was or even what month we were in. I’m exaggerating, but just a little.
All that to say, this isn’t actually about whether or not to put your baby on a schedule, which I intend to do eventually. It’s about realizing that for every step of the parenting journey, there are 9,000 people ready to give you their opinion on how to do it right. Everyone who raised kids is a certified expert. The internet is a black hole where literally any question you type in will have conflicting answers depending on the writer’s personal bias. What worked for them may or may not work for you.
And maybe, like me, with your first kid things looked one way, and now with your second, they look a little different. Life looks a little different. So maybe we would benefit from asking fewer questions and reading fewer books and leaning into something simple: what feels good. Maybe the secret is to trust our own maternal instinct more and to listen to the compass that has been pre-programmed inside of us. To turn outward in search of good advice a little less.
Women have been birthing babies and nurturing them since the beginning of time, and many generations before ours figured out how to do it without nearly as much info as we have at our fingertips. Without Dr.Google, without experts, without $1700 robot bassinets and without worrying that anything we do (without checking the internet or our time table first) might be a mistake. Everything we really need to know is already inside. The rest will come.
In sleep-deprived solidarity,
Jane
my advice: Do what feels right for you!! nothing is perfect, and yet everything/anything is just right!