One evening, as my partner and I finally settled down to enjoy some television, a realization struck me. Even with the volume kept low to avoid waking our baby, we found ourselves in a rare moment of quietude. No baby giggles. No cries. No debates over diaper changes or feeding techniques. Just silence—a precious respite.
I turned to my partner and asked, “Do you ever miss the days when it was just us?” His immediate response of “Yes” revealed a shared sentiment, confirming the secret guilt I had been carrying. In those long, sleepless hours of rocking my son, I sometimes questioned my decision to become a mother.
This past month has been particularly challenging. Our baby hit a sleep regression around Thanksgiving, leading to nearly four weeks of fragmented nights—some even worse than when he was a newborn. I now understand why sleep deprivation is often compared to torture. Physically and mentally, I feel drained. Anger has faded into numbness, leaving me feeling broken.
Yet, despite the exhaustion, I see the beauty in my son. He truly is the most adorable baby I’ve ever laid eyes on (I recognize that all parents feel this way). Most days are filled with bliss, his adorable chubby cheeks making everything worthwhile—even the occasional mess. However, it seems he saves his biggest surprises for the night, and sleep has become a distant memory.
My days are filled with the echo of footsteps down the hallway, back and forth, much like a restless animal in a cage. My body is sore, and I’ve become a bottomless pit of need, catering to my son’s every demand for food, affection, and attention.
But it’s about more than just the lack of sleep. I struggle to carve out time for my partner or even for myself. My entire day revolves around the feeding, changing, and sleeping schedule of my little one. Social interactions have dwindled to text messages or scrolling through social media until my thumb aches—my only available finger while nursing. I no longer paint or exercise; the remnants of my physical fitness have faded away.
The most significant challenge has been losing my sense of self in this new role of motherhood. Initially, I embraced this change, feeling it was the greatest milestone of my life. However, months later, I find myself feeling different. The transformation in my life has been monumental.
Connecting with other mothers has been a lifeline for me. Some days, I feel as though I’m on the brink of losing my sanity, but I’m reassured to know I’m not alone. Motherhood is a blend of joy and isolation, love and pain—an experience unlike any other.
In reality, it’s not my son I regret but the loss of my former life. Letting go of the person I’ve been for the last decade is challenging. Once the initial bliss of caring for a newborn faded, reality set in with a new life staring back at me. The unknown can be terrifying, especially when coupled with exhaustion and feelings of loneliness.
As nights improve—sometimes—they still leave me reflecting on how young and helpless he is. He relies on me for nourishment, comfort, and safety. I am everything to him.
While the mourning for my old life is coming to an end, the dawn of this new chapter is emerging. I realize that I cannot regret him, as he has become my everything as well.
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