beer Archives - pnw mountain mommy

There are things I used to take for granted. Things, that, were you to tell me would become beacons of hope, I would worry about my quality of life.

You know.

You know exactly what I’m talking about.

Here’s the compendium of motherhood’s tiny triumphs:

Coffee

Duh. We can all agree (or a lot of us anyway) that coffee is our new parental life blood and to be separated from our morning mug is to court psychosis and possible bodily injury to loved ones when they ask simple questions like: “could you grab <insert anything here> if you’re going upstairs?” or perhaps: “Good morning!”

A Shower

For some reason, I was under the impression that once my baby hit six months, I’d be taking a shower every morning like clockwork. In my sleepless, postpartum blur, I told myself that once my kid was half-way to a year, I’d be living that good smelling, non-greasy life. That… never happened. Sure, I can shower when he naps. He naps two-three times a day but the naps can be anywhere from 25-75 minutes and so jumping in the shower is risky. I’ve all but given up on shaving my legs or blow drying my hair. Also, those naps are precious. Typically, I have to choose between cleanliness or productivity. I could wash the yogurt out of my hair and the drool off my extremities, OR I could wash the dishes, OR I could try and meet a writing deadline. Typically, overwhelmed with choice and not sure which is the most productive, I end up on the couch eating leftover pasta and watching Project Runway.

A Beer

I appreciated beer before I was a mom, but back then a beer was a spontaneous, social thing. Now, the moment that kid is down for the night, I shuffle to the fridge and pull out a beer and take a deep breath while I pop the cap. When I tell you I enjoy that beer? I mean, next level enjoyment. That beer represents a very real distinction between baby time and personal time. I have a few hours between when Little Bear goes to sleep and when I go to sleep, and in those hours I tidy, I write, a lot of times I let my brain slowly drip out my ears while I futz around on Instagram. It’s my time, and my time is greatly improved with a hoppy little sidekick.

A Hobby

Remember that? It was something you did outside of work and family time? Like, a little project you did to pass the time. Don’t laugh. We actually used to have those. I recently decided to try picking that up again. Botanical drawing is something I find lovely and so beyond my capabilities. I can’t draw, at all, but that makes it more fun because I’m starting from the bottom with no illusions that I will actually have the time to get even remotely proficient until I’m sixty and my kids are out of my house. I started it three weeks ago… I think I’ve maybe sketched a dozen petals. In three weeks.

Reading

I used to be a founding member of a book club. I was a literature major. I prided myself on my ability to read every day and knock off books weekly. I realize that sounds like bragging, and I probably did brag about it back then. Yeah. Back then. Now if I’m lucky I can manage to read two pages in bed before my forehead is sandwiched between the text and drool is slowly being absorbed into the pages.

Sleep

I thought I understood my relationship to sleep. I thought a good night was getting eight uninterrupted hours. Now, if I get three hours in a row I feel like an absolute champion. If for some unknown reason my baby decides to sleep longer than that, I have to stop myself from signing up for an iron man I feel so good. The flip side to this, of course, is anytime my baby wakes up before three hours I turn into a sobbing shell of a person who can only rock back and forth while clutching a coffee mug and mumbling incoherently at the wall.

Comfy Clothes

Notice I didn’t say actual clothes. Comfy clothes are a completely different category and, I’ve decided, far more satisfying than traditional clothing. Why wear something with a button and a zipper when you could wear something with an elastic waistband made from angora rabbits, or spun clouds, or llama tummy fur. They’re not ‘pajamas’ because that implies you only wear them to bed. This is all-day baby battle gear. Since you’ll be covered in spit up, pee, splattered puree, and other unknown items, it’s really the only thing that makes sense. You’ll be gross, but you’ll be comfortable.

Partner Small Kindnesses

Your significant other lets you sleep in. Your significant other picks up some food on the way home for dinner. Your significant other makes breakfast. Your significant other tells you you’re looking nice that day. Any of these things before a baby would be gently appreciated. After a baby your significant other is a saint who has never been sexier than when they’re changing a diaper so you can drink your coffee while it’s still hot.

Free Time

I remember this being a fun, relaxed time, where I would fill it with whatever struck my fancy. Now when I’m given a few hours to myself I have no idea what to do. A family member offers to watch the baby for a bit and sets you free to… what? It’s maddening. I spend the first twenty minutes of freedom debating what to do and secretly thinking I should be taking this time to sweep the living room so my baby stops shoving dust bunnies in his mouth. Eventually I’ll settle on something but by the time I get comfy, I’m usually panicked I need to get back and don’t really immerse myself in the freedom. Freedom is now, apparently, terrifying.

Adult Conversation

I still haven’t figured out how to do that. Most of the time when I meet people without children, I stare blankly into their eyes and try to come up with some sort of topic that doesn’t involve weaning or nap schedules. Most of the time I am unsuccessful and watch as their eyes glaze over and they politely begin inching away.

It’s the little things… or maybe the lack of them. Onward and upward, parents. Just take it one, sleepless, lukewarm cup of coffee at a time.

There is something inherently isolating about the first time you become a mother. In the cosmic sense, we’re all one, motherhood blossoms a beautiful connection to your baby, you are part of the bigger maternal narrative… yadda, yadda. I mean, not like, dismissive yadda yadda because that’s actually all pretty cool, but not the point I’m trying to make here.

Isolation, let us all be clear, is not loneliness. I do not feel alone. I have a strong community around me that includes a supportive family, husband, motherhood tribe, and friends. However, even with all of that support, the isolation of motherhood is present and constant and I’ve found it takes a great deal of effort to connect with other moms. Trying to acknowledge this experience can often times feel very singular and separated.

Little Bear squawks in my ear and I explain how my entire life has become about our baby’s sleep schedule and how the four-month regression can just STOP IT RIGHT NOW before I go out for milk and never come back. Kidding, kidding… It clearly would be beer. I’d go out for beer.

The thing about a baby and his sleep schedule when it goes ass-over-tea-kettle is that it completely consumes your life. Motherhood itself completely changes your life in every conceivable way, but there’s something about the sleep… I literally spend my day looking at the clock and planning out the time I’m going to begin the process of putting Little Bear down for his next nap. Currently? My kid has six naps a day because he naps like a jerk and doesn’t sleep longer than thirty minutes so a nap every hour and a half to two hours is the only way I can seem to get enough sleep in him. My day has become a series of repetitions that involve trying to get him to fall asleep inside my house, because god forbid I go outside, where I can’t control the environment and a motorcycle wakes him up or a particularly high curb jostles him and one planned nap is out the window.

It got to a breaking point this past week where I felt absolutely helpless and incredibly depressed about my inability to coax him to sleep and my fear of messing up this tentative nap schedule I’d created. Big Radish had to explain that staying cooped up in the house all day, every day, so I could make sure Little Bear had six naps, wasn’t worth it. He also mentioned that it clearly wasn’t really doing anything since six naps seemed to have no influence on how much he was sleeping at night, which, just so you guys know, was and is, bupkis.

Sleep schedules and personal sleep deprivation aren’t the only thing that can create isolation, just general day-to-day activities can contribute to the experience. Before I had a baby, running errands would take twenty minutes if they were quick and close by. Now, if I get up the gumption to actually attempt them, it takes an hour just to get out the door between feeding, changing, packing the diaper bag, grabbing the car seat, and making sure I’m actually wearing pants.

I’m not the only one who feels this overwhelmed and isolated. Hell, just within my circle of mom friends (those who are new and those who are going through it for the second or third time) it’s a common topic of conversation. It’s nearly impossible not to be isolated when the majority of your time is spent keeping a tiny person alive and trying to make sure they get enough sleep. The only people I talk to on a regular basis (besides my hubby) are other moms through text messages, and most of the time it’s while holding my breath hoping my fingers tapping the phone wont wake my sleeping baby. I mean, texting is silent, but… things become irrational around the waking of your kid.

For example, the mailman is now my mortal enemy. Not because I have anything against him, but my dog does not like him, and if my dog barks, the nap is over. Ipso facto, the mailman and I have beef.

Even with all the support, there are some days I wish I could hear “you’re doing a good job” over and over again because saying it to myself just isn’t enough. A lot of times when I’m at home with my baby and I’m obsessed with naps and the feeding schedule it can just feel like no one really cares how hard it is. Going from a job in the public sphere to a job in the private sphere is extremely abrupt. When you work in the service industry you have a constant stream of feedback letting you know your work is appreciated. The dedication I had to my profession was reflected in monetary and audible compliments. People could see the hard work, the polish, the experience. When you move from a high-profile position to one that is even more important in some ways, the job of being a mom, the people who see your dedication dwindles down to your immediate family, and regularly the only people who watch me day in and day out are my baby and my dog, and they’re hardly tipping me based on performance.

I feel guilty that I want recognition for this job. My husband works long, long hours. He is basically the sole provider of income for our family which puts a lot of pressure on him. He currently just opened a restaurant and is still the head chef and partial owner of another. Yet, he is the picture of stoicism. The man doesn’t complain; he takes on all the hard work and gets it done. I… want to be like that. I sometimes feel like I hold onto hard, trying days, so I can tell Big Radish about them because if I don’t explain or, let’s be honest, whine, about how hard my days are then it’s like they never happened. No one else sees me, no one else will ever know how hard my days can be because no one is around to bare witness. I feel like if I’m stoic then it’s like saying this is an easy job, and, it’s not!

Little Bear is perfect. He’s adorable, he loves to smile, his laugh melts me, the way he lights up when he hears my voice… I mean, there’s nothing better. So, when I’m exhausted from no sleep and I feel like some days are just so hard, too hard, it makes me feel like something is wrong with me. I know I’m a good mom and I try so hard, but sometimes it just never feels like enough, and all the triumphs and tragedies of motherhood happen behind closed doors where no one seems to notice or particularly care that you’re covered in spit up and it has taken an hour to get him down for yet another nap, which, will only be thirty minutes.

I’ll leave you with this:

Feeling like you want acknowledgement is not only a real emotion, it’s a normal one. When your whole life goes topsy-turvy because suddenly your job is no longer primarily outside the house (and even if it is), it’s ok to feel like this is really hard. Sometimes you just need to say THIS IS REALLY HARD, or type it in a desperate text message to another mom friend (my friend Katie tends to get these texts like three times a day), because you’re exhausted. Guess what, you’re probably getting some stuff wrong, I know I am, but at least we’re all trying and we love our babies. Those two things, more than anything else, will get us through this.

Also, beer.

A Laundry List of Little Things

Acknowledgement, it’s a thing.