The [baby] honeymoon is over.

He’s 15 weeks. That’s 3.5 months, roughly. That’s 105 days. I’m not really sure how the time went so fast. I spent the first three months in sleep-deprived bliss. Running on fumes, I had never felt so happy. Complete. Invincible. I didn’t need sleep. New moms never do. Holding that precious bundle, inhaling the newborn smell; the world is perfect. I quit my job, sure that nothing could be a better career. I was never bored; every moment spent with my son the most fulfilling one yet. I couldn’t understand moms that got stir crazy or unhappy being home—I was in total bliss. It took 105 days for that to change. The reality of my new life had sunk in.

10-12-16-the-honeymoon-is-over

Now I’m tired. I spend my days hoping that my baby will soon sleep a perfect six hours in a row. I’m willing to sacrifice my mammary ducts for a good night’s sleep. It’s funny what is considered a “full” night. It used to be 10+ hours; now I’m thrilled for five.

Now I’m bored. Old enough to be cognizant of his world yet not old enough to hold up his head and occupy himself, I spend a lot of time holding my little man and trying to occupy us both with simple picture books and rattles. Going to the grocery store alone is my big day out (even though I am bound by his breastfeeding schedule).

Now I’m frustrated. I’m anxious. I want to be able to be the perfect stay at home mom and start my own business. The sink is full. The couches and chairs in my living room have turned into an impromptu laundry mat. I don’t have enough time to write, blog, and grow my brand. I don’t have enough time for my husband. I don’t have enough time for myself.

Now I’m questioning myself. Did I really up and quit my career? I walked out of that building with a “quit dis bitch” attitude and never felt better. Now I’m not so sure. Being a stay at home mom seems a lot harder than going to work ever was. It’s like being on call 24/7, except the pager is never turned off. There are no weekends or days off.

Now I’m lost in motherhood. I’ve let it completely consume me. Everything about my life is about being mama. I don’t recognize myself anymore. Not just the dark circles and belly pooch, but my priorities. Everything is different. Last week Baby T experienced his first cold. I experienced utter exhaustion. It was like that game at the fair where you hit the target with the big funny hammer as hard as you can to try to ring that bell at the top. I was 99% of the way to getting my bell rung. There was nothing funny about it.

Now I look at my son. It’s finally a new week. His eyes crinkle and a big toothless grin emerges. He shrieks in delight, waiting for me to shriek back. This is our adorable new game we play. I realize that I may have lost myself in motherhood, but I found someone better. I have found someone that is more selfless, more loving, more patient, and more kind than I thought possible. I found someone that finally puts her priorities in the right order. I found someone that I was meant to be.

Now I’m sure. I found a mother. I found my new life. And I wouldn’t change her or it for anything.

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