The other day I felt desperate to be told I was doing okay. I think I have surprised myself these last weeks- managing lack of sleep, baby cries that make you feel so helpless, constant feedings (Lucille goes through a growth spurt every day I think), and starting classes three weeks after her arrival- all with Nate’s long week/weekend hours. I hunker down during times like this (well, I’ve never experienced anything quite like this), and close myself off quite a bit in the process. Possibly counter-productive, but the focus feels necessary to me, and I’m almost always too prideful to admit I need help. But I hit a wall, and felt myself start to panic a little. Would I ever sleep again?! Would life every normalize/move out of survival mode? Even my body knew I had hit a wall and demanded I take it easy.
My mom flew in for round two of helping out with Lucille (round one was impeded by baby girl’s late arrival), and man oh man was it sweet relief. It would be impossible to type out all she accomplished for me- physically and emotionally- but I will say that somewhere around six loads of laundry were done in less than a week’s time, and hours of reassurance were given- that Lucille and I will sleep soundly (at some point) and my jeans will fit again (someday).
My mother-in-law arrived just after my mom left, and she’s given me time I haven’t had in over a month- time to study, sleep, get brunch with my girlfriends, and paint my nails (!). I’ve been learning many a valuable lesson these days about asking for and accepting help.
I can’t help but think her cry face is the cutest thing ever and it sometimes makes me laugh. Good thing she’s too worried about filling her stomach to notice my chuckles at her expense. :)