The touch of a newborn rekindles the essence of life in all of us. Something about the softness of a newborn's cheek, the fineness of baby hair under our chin, the silken warmth of a newborn's naked body laying on top of our chest... touch is deep.
Kate of
On-The-Go Momma and
Mothers Central Blog reminded me of touch and its importance from the moment I first began reading her blogs. Her experiences as a mother are so insightful that I often would return two, sometimes three, times to her blog to read the same post. She reminds me that touch of a newborn is just the beginning of a lifetime of touch we experience with our children.
It fills my heart with joy to have Kate here on my blog today! Thank you Kate!!
When the Newness Wears Off…
By Kate Fineske
With my firstborn daughter, I vividly remember:
- the sleepless nights (and days)
- the endless cries (that I would wake to with worry)
- and having an extreme sense of inadequacy because…
As a new mom I was constantly second guessing every. single. decision. I made.
And I struggled.
I struggled for just a little more sleep - that I thought would never come.
I mourned the remembrance of past "me time" - that was too quickly becoming a foggy memory.
And Yes. OH, HOW I WISHED for this time to pass. For more sleep. For less crying. For that feeling of inadequacy to be gone.
Yet even in my darkest hour, through my tears of sleep deprived, hormonal, frustrations - the one thing that could eventually help to sooth my frustrations (besides a good night's sleep!) was the memory of the time when my daughter was untouchable - snuggled safely inside my belly.
And this reminder would always make me smile.
Smile in amazement of how I could now touch her, and snuggle with her, and (attempt to) soothe her. And I would be reminded of just how wonderful it was to feel her tiny, breezy breaths as she laid peacefully in her crib (on occasion!) or against my shoulder (more often!).
When I allowed myself to remember where she had been, and where she was now… my hope began to return - the hope that eventually I would sleep again (right?), eventually I would leave the house again (right?).
Eventually…
And eventually time did passed, I did sleep again, and I could leave the house again.
And the newness wore off.
The days and weeks became months. The sleepless nights got better, the endless cries became more manageable, and I got used to the inadequacy. And then months became years, my newborn became a toddler (who yes! eventually was potty trained) and I began to adjust…
until…
Number two, my son, came into this world.
Followed by a return of sleepless nights, endless cries and more feelings (different feelings) of inadequacy. This time around, my feelings of inadequacy were amplified by my inability to fit in enough time with my oldest daughter.
- I was scared we would lose our close mother/daughter connection. (As I fought to maintain my own sleep deprived sanity.)
- I was worried that she would feel unloved. (During those times when her little brother was screaming, or sick, or needed to be nursed, or just had to be held.)
She no longer got 100% of my attention 100% of the time.
So to help fight these fears, my time with my oldest daughter became much more intentional - with mommy daughter dates, and reading rituals before bed. And it was during these times I would sneak in a snuggle, or a tickle, or a hug - to remind her that she was still loved.
And eventually…
Time did passed again.
Eventually, sleepless nights got better, the newborn cries became more manageable, and I got used to the inadequacy.
The newness wore off.
And, just as it had the last time, the days and weeks became months, months became years, my newborn became a toddler (who was finally potty trained!), my toddler became a child (beginning her first days of elementary school), and I started to adjust…
until…
Number three, my second son, came into this world.
For the most part, I could now handle the sleepless nights. I could now manage the newborn cries. I could now allow for intentional time with my two other children. I had been there. I had done that. We had all survived. I could do it again.
Until ONE night. (And it only takes one!)
One night, when my husband was working late. One cold, dreary wintery night when I felt as though I had been trapped in the house forever. One night when my newborn hadn't been sleeping too well, so in turn, one (of many) nights when I hadn't been sleeping so well either.
And I felt I JUST couldn't do it.
I just couldn't get my kids ready for bed - and it was already way past their bedtime.
I just couldn't read them a book (our nightly ritual) as the baby was screaming and needed to be nursed.
I was exhausted. I was run down. And I Just. Couldn't.
I left my two older children in their bedrooms - with a frustrated yell that THEY NEEDED TO GET IN PJ's and to bed - and I walked in defeat to the nursery with their youngest brother who needed to nurse and needed to sleep and only. needed. me.
I sat in the nursery with tears in my eyes. And dreamed of sleep.
Eventually my youngest finished nursing. Eventually he was quiet. Eventually I could leave him to check on the other two.
Eventually…
And what I found I will never forget: My two children - ages 3 1/2 and 7 - snuggled in their jammies, sitting together - legs dangling off the edge of my middle child's bottom bunk, both happy and content as my oldest daughter read a nighttime book to my middle son.
"Brown Bear, Brown Bear, what do you see." She said using all the correct tonal fluctuations.
As I watch them both from afar - so engrossed in the book - all I could remember was that 7 years ago it was my newborn daughter who I rocked and nursed asleep. And now, she had grown to this little girl, helping me (more then she will ever know) in my extreme time of need.
And I calmed. As I remembered her tiny breath when she used to lay peacefully against my shoulder (as my youngest just had been moments ago).
Time passes so quickly. The newness does eventually wear off.
But I will always remember her touch as a newborn.