Today, while strolling through town, I had the pleasure of meeting you, and I can’t shake the feeling that my words fell short. I wanted to reach out again, because, well, I think you deserve to hear more.
My day was a bit off-kilter. I had consumed too much caffeine, sending my heart racing in a way I’m not proud of. Blame it on my restless night—my little one is partially responsible, but I admit I have my own issues with sleep. Our morning routine was disrupted when my baby took a longer nap than usual. As a result, we opted for an afternoon walk to the candy store instead, and along the way, we paused to chat and let my older son pet a dog or two. In hindsight, I’m grateful for the change in plans because it led us to cross paths.
Just as we were nearing home, I noticed someone behind us. When I turned and spotted your vibrant orange double stroller, I waved sheepishly, feeling a bit awkward. I quickly called out, “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to stare; I was just curious who was behind me.” As you approached, I took a sip of my coffee and noticed the little ones in your stroller—one asleep, the other awake with striking blue eyes. We exchanged some light conversation about our kids—your twins and my one-year-old daughter, along with my six-year-old son. In that moment, I felt relieved that my “baby” was no longer a tiny infant. I remember all too well how challenging those early days can be.
When I asked how you were doing, you candidly shared that your walk was a form of therapy today. I should have responded by saying that my daily walks are therapeutic too. Every single day. Instead, you opened up about the difficulties you faced with breastfeeding and how you had just transitioned away from it. I could see the emotion welling up in your eyes as you brushed hair from your face. I listened intently, trying to convey with my expression that you didn’t owe me any explanations. Perhaps you felt the need to share, or perhaps you were dealing with others who expected justification. Regardless, I was there for you.
I told you I understood and reassured you that although it may not feel like it, everything would be okay. “In time, this will all settle,” I said. However, I left feeling like I hadn’t shared enough. Here’s what I wish I had expressed:
First and foremost, parenting is incredibly challenging.
It’s a struggle that isn’t often talked about. The love you feel for your child can be overwhelming, and the fear of not meeting their needs can feel unbearable. Embrace those feelings; I used to fear them, but I’ve learned to accept and navigate them. The parenting journey may not necessarily become easier, but you will find a way to cope with your heart now intertwined with those little lives you nurture.
Your babies are healthy and thriving; that’s what truly matters.
I know you’re feeling a sense of loss over stopping breastfeeding, but the essential thing is that they are being fed. I recall the bittersweet moment when I nursed my son for the last time. It was a mix of sadness and relief—suddenly, I had my body back, yet a void remained. I sense you might be feeling something similar now. The good news is that it does get easier, even when it feels insurmountable.
Try not to dwell in guilt.
I hope you aren’t experiencing that, but just in case, remember that it’s common among mothers. This “mom guilt” is a heavy weight we often carry, but let’s support each other through it, shall we?
You are navigating through a challenging phase right now, but the rewards ahead are immense. I noticed you watching my son help my daughter down the sidewalk, admiring her “little, white teeth.” The joy they bring me is indescribable, even when they drive me up the wall. It’s an honor to be their mother and witness their growth.
Take care of yourself, and remember that you are doing your best. Even when it doesn’t feel sufficient, it is. Keep going on your walks; fresh air is truly healing. I won’t suggest you nap when they do, as I never found comfort in that advice myself. Instead, focus on self-care in whatever way you can.
Lastly, let’s keep walking together. I consume a lot of coffee, indulge in chocolate, and sometimes use language I shouldn’t. But those walks? They’re my therapy, and I need them as much as you do.