“When I finally felt ready for a second child, years later, I spoke to my therapist about preventative strategies in case PND started throwing its weight around a second time. I had notes and lists. I built a strong sense of identity as a woman and mother and felt...
My children stole my soul so I must fight, daily, to get a small piece of it back. I need to keep some for myself so I can maintain a bit of self-respect and at least a shadow of my identity for when the day comes when the girls leave me.
A while back I wrote this post about sleep training. Some people liked it, others compared my home to a Russian Orphanage. I personally thought I had this whole sleep-training thing nailed. Turns out each kid is different. Who knew?
When I look at the baby through my hoodie hole, she smiles at me. Big. I don’t want to be cheered up but I can’t help it. This is why I don’t run away and why I don’t quit.
Why will my child only eat white things? I swore I would never make ‘alternative meals’ again (almost as bad as ‘alternative facts’) but found myself angrily slapping together cheese sandwiches and globbing yogurt into bowls.
I so badly want to be a more relaxed parent. One who can leave dishes in the sink and run around in the backyard after dinner. Unfortunately, as a recovering perfectionist and new mother of two, the kitchen is the only thing I can control in my life. So I NEED to have those dishes done or I’ll twitch.
Social Media is not real. Or maybe it’s a half-truth like a little white lie. Arguably it’s more like a one-hundreth of the truth.
A few short thoughts (because that’s all I’m capable of) on the less-than-Glamourous-yet-magical time of life with a newborn. Bottles. boobs and maternity-wear.
So yes, I had the right pump and a tin of formula, but the main tool that helped make breastfeeding a success the second time around is me and my open mind.
When I say minimalist parenting, I’m not talking about it in the sense that we need to cull some toys, but instead that we trash the idea of perfection.