Fear and relief

There are many things we don't show when we share motherhood pictures: the extent of poonamis, the tantrums, the tiredness, the moments of blah-ness, of boredom. Since Henri's birth, I've struggled on and off with what resembles ptsd. I've had it before, after all, so I know how it feels. I've been trying to set up some help for myself, but somehow, haven't managed to achieve it. Most days, I'm fine. It's there, in the background, but I look at him, I hear him coo, and it's ok. We're ok. I try to erase what scared me by replacing it with what I see now: a thriving little guy who smiles all the time, and manages to make everyone swoon over him.

But there are moments when the fear comes back. When I worry about his health. Today, he had a tiny procedure to help him (and me) with breastfeeding. The first picture is my "face of fear", as I waited for the doctor. No amount of comforting thoughts and rationalizing could reassure me. As I told the doctor as we were discussing options, I might run away, so let's do this.

He didn't enjoy this. The blood, the pain, it wasn't his idea of fun. Right now, we're snuggling. He seems to get moments of pain and then all's well with the world.

Becoming a mother, i learned that feelings rarely came clearly and alone. I discovered that, as with the intense love i feel for my boys, a love I never experienced or even imagined before them, I could feel, as now, relief that it's done, sadness and guilt that it had to be done, and appeasement as he abandons himself soundly in my arms.

This is motherhood.