Left Foot, Right Foot...

From down the hall I could hear the soft strains of a lullaby.  My eyes were heavy.  I blinked slowly, trying to shut out the sunlight filtering through the window blinds.  I took a deep breath and pulled my daughter close to me.  She fussed and flailed a small fist, then settled back into a comfortable position.  She felt so warm.  She felt safe.  So different from this time two weeks ago.

Bringing our baby home from the hospital was a whirlwind of activity, emotions and new experiences.  Fear, elation, joy, confusion, fatigue, worry, the list goes on.  Nothing that any new parent hasn't gone through, with one glaring exception:  I've never gone through this.

My husband is strong.  He worries, he frets.  He gets frustrated and whispers pleas into her dark nursery, begging her to get some sleep.  But he has stepped into the role of father like no one I've ever known.  It fits him. It's as though it's always been.

For me, the first days of motherhood were plagued with nothing short of terror.  Was I really qualified?  Why was she crying?  Did I feed her ten minutes ago or an hour ago?  If I feed her again now will she get sick?  Was this the wrong formula?  Why isn't she smiling more?  When she does smile, does it mean anything?  Is she happy?  Does she know we are her parents?  Will she bond with us?  Will I bond with her?  Will her birth mother have a radical change of heart?  Have I just made a leap of faith over a chasm so great, I can't possibly land on my feet?

None of this is unusual.  What was unusual was my sadness.  This was the absolute, hands down, once in a lifetime opportunity I had prayed for for three decades.  Now this breathing, thriving, glorious gift was in my arms and...I didn't know how to feel.  It was as though someone threw me into a lake and held me under water.  I could not catch my breath, and the longer I stayed down there in the murky depths of my subconscious, the greater removed I felt from the life I once knew.

Our old life was fulfilling.  We went on trips.  We went hiking.  We went to the movies.  We slept in on the weekends.  We had dates.  We lived our lives.  We longed for a child to share this life with, and now she was here.  Time to celebrate!  Time to rejoice.  Instead I sat in her room at 3am, looking at this tiny, helpless soul and crying into my hands. 

I started reading.  Fast.  I did research.  I looked into why I felt as I did, and unbelievably, I found answers.  I was not alone.

Each day since has been better.  You have to crawl before you walk, pardon the pun, and in my case I'm just as much a newborn as our daughter.  I'm learning.  I'm learning who she is when she herself doesn't even know.  Most of all, I'm learning about my role as her mother.  It's a title I thought impossible.  You see, people don't just hand you the title of "mother".  It's not like a placard on your desk.  It's something to be earned.  I want to earn it. 

Nights are still hard.  Her colic, fear, hunger or general displeasure with this scary new world makes for very little sleep.  Sometimes I can't function.  I can't even finish sentences.  I skip words.  I hold onto the bannister on the stairs for fear of falling.  I wouldn't even try to drive these days.  I'm simply too tired. 

My husband is tired too, but he has been such a strong support.  The strongest yet.  He understands in a way others don't, and what he doesn't understand he accepts as my journey.  He loves me unconditionally.  He knows we will be great parents.  It takes time.

Our baby doesn't scare me today.  I still worry about the details, and I always will, but I've found  more peace with this new place in my life.  I will continue to improve because quite simply, I refuse not to.

Sleep will come some day.  Sanity along with it.  Until then, I am struggling each day to take care of myself and all my other responsibilities.  The world doesn't buy the reasoning, "But we're new parents".  Bills still come, chores still need tending to. 

We will be ok.  We will be better than ok.  But I want people to know there is no shame in postpartum depression or the lesser known PADS.  (Post Adoption Depression Syndrome)  There is no greater life change than the addition of a new child to a family.  It's a wonderful blessing, the best there is, and because of that it is also downright intimidating.  There are a million feelings to process and so we have got to be gentle with ourselves.  In order to be the best mom I can be, I have to take care of myself.  I have to show patience with my progress.  I will get there soon, I know.  I have the best motivator ever...a baby girl.