So...
I have never really been a girly-girl. Growing up, I never planned my wedding, didn't even really think about having a husband until late high school. I did think about kids, though. I thought about what they would look like, what they would say, and how they would play. I remember specifically thinking about boys. I don't know why, I've just always jived with them better than girls. Little girls are annoying. There, I said it.
I had these visions of a pudgy little boy on the floor, half on his belly with one arm under his head, watching his cars as he drove them back and forth, making the engine sounds. I had these visions of being the perfect mommy. And visions of the perfect child.
When Max came along, I was elated to put it mildly. He was my world. Josh (my husband) would head off to work every day, and then it was just the two of us. It was fabulous! I was smitten. I loved taking him with me everywhere. I loved that he was so beautiful that people couldn't help but comment. I loved that he was such a good baby. The thing I loved the most, though, was that he loved me. I was secretly thrilled that he never wanted anyone else. Our days were filled with cuddles and nursing, and my heart was full. For awhile.
In babyhood, Max would not sleep in his own bed. And please don't judge me and say that we didn't try hard enough because you weren't there. I didn't even think twice about it when he was a newborn because I knew that babies that breastfeed eat often, so I just assumed that he was hungry a lot. He became attached to me to the point that at times I thought I would lose my mind. And because I was a first-time mother, I was afraid to put him down. It wasn't until kid #2 that I realized babies won't die if you put them down and let them cry sometimes. So there I was, straddling this fence of loving every minute of cuddling, yet feeling so overwhelmed because I couldn't ever put this child down. I felt like I was going to choke sometimes because I had this ball of something continually rising in my chest and I was going to explode because I couldn't even fold one load of laundry without him sitting on my lap. I distinctly remember one evening when Josh came home and I burst into tears. Sobbing, I choked out, "I'm so tired of being a mommy."
The key word there is "tired." My amazingly selfless, sweet, wonderful husband took over. Instead of Max using my breast as a pacifier (because he wouldn't take a real pacifier), Josh walked the halls with him. And bounced him. And sang to him. And cuddled him. And swayed with him. And watched TV with him. And still he wouldn't sleep. Hours it would take him to finally conk out, only to wake as soon as Josh put him in his crib. We quit trying to lay him down because we were so exhausted. Josh lovingly and without complaint did this every night so I could rest and then would bring him to bed with us where he would stay asleep. Praise the Lord!!!!! Then, a new day would dawn, and we would forget that long night and see that face. He was absolutely breathtaking.
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