In the Beginning

I  met my match with motherhood in 2004. I was good at almost everything I ever tried in my life–except group sports and microeconomics. I expected motherhood to be no different. “We” got pregnant right away after moving to Iowa City for  my husband’s residency. I read books. I made lists. I scoured Ebay and Amazon and Pottery Barn. We went to birthing class. I interviewed my assigned pediatrician resident. I planned confidently. I was so ready to be a mom and I was determined to be great at it. Alas, nothing was like I planned. 

From those two pink lines until his arrival, my son and I were fighting! True to form, my son with a mind of his own, was a week late. All my help had to leave and I was a lonely resident spouse with a brand new baby far away from home. I never slept. I couldn’t nurse my baby. He couldn’t be swaddled. He wouldn’t take a pacifier. We cried and cried together, all the time. I was exhausted and angry and frustrated.

Ten weeks into motherhood, I put my crying bundle of joy in his crib and walked out of the house. Panicked, I called Andy from the backyard, ” I cannot do this anymore. Please come home.” He left a room full of patients at the clinic and came straight home. I have no idea what he said to his coworkers—I just know he came home. The next day I went to the doctor. 

I had postpartum depression. I was shattered. My baby was almost three months old and I felt like I had already failed him forever because I was not good at mothering a newborn. Truthfully, I was competent at mothering a newborn, I just didn’t like it and I was angry about it. Who wants to admit that? The audacity! A few months later after medication and talk therapy and a biweekly afternoon babysitter, mothering an infant became, if not exactly fun, something I could handle on most days. 

My newborn-infant story is not unique. It’s common and true for many mothers. For me, as someone who never failed at anything, this new “failure” was unique and almost insurmountable. The shame at not being an amazing mom right off the bat was overwhelming. It took years for me to forgive myself! Years! I cannot overstate this truth. I learned to be “a good enough mom,” which freed me from the shame and guilt of something that was not my fault at all, but an unfortunate perfect storm of timing, unhealthy personal expectations, and brain chemistry.

Failure to Thrive is Not an Option

My sweet boy (who also rarely fails at anything) and I had to learn to fail together. Every year I would write “learn to fail” on his “what do you want your child to learn this year?” teacher questionnaire. And learn we did. Over the years, my son and I learned that our battles of will with each other were not failures, but learning experiences. I learned to let go and he learned to let me in. We learned to dance together through long drives, milk shakes, sushi, and Scrabble games. We learned to have fun together—and we do! 

Now that I’m almost good at being a mom, the rules are changing again! My son is going to college—far away. I have practiced this journey in my head many times with his summer sleep away camp drop offs, his bland goodbyes at the airport before solo cross country trips, and his cavalier approach to no contact international trips. I have been crying for no good reason at weird times for months. I am ready to be shattered all over again.

I have cherished this last year (his 18th) at home with him. It was a hidden blessing to be able to give him a year of practice with adulting. After 19 years of life, my son is going off into his future with what I pray are realistic expectations and a solid belief in himself. He also understands that all moms are sometimes a little crazy. Hopefully as he continues the next four years at college, the inevitable setbacks and disappointments will be acknowledged for the lessons they are instead of failures. I hope he will find a little bit of joy every day. 

Epilogue

I shared this post with my son on our cross country drive to college. Thirteen hours in the car offered time for a few honest and authentic moments between us. We laughed about many things. 

At one point my son said, “I don’t think you’re a failure, mom. I think you’re a good mom. I can talk to you about anything. That’s cool.” 

The skies opened up and the angels sang to me. 

“But when we get to campus, please don’t embarrass me,” he said. 

Properly chastened, I agreed to do my best to be cool. 

He was ready to go and I was ready to let him go. It’s been a few weeks now and I am enjoying this change in our relationship. It’s more advising of the adulting than directing the chaos. I still tear up and occasionally cry. I still get mad when he acts ten instead of almost 20. We are still doing our parent-child dance. This time though, I’m great at it! He is who he is, and I am who I am, and we just laugh about it over sushi. 

You are the light of our lives my darling. Our whole life changed when you were born. You are one in a million and we love you so very very much.