I didn't expect to be a bigtime WorryMama, but oh my goodness. Is this hormonal? Will it go away? Or do I have to have another kid before I can relax already and stop beating myself up?
Yesterday's massage was fan-freaking-tastic. Actually, the bliss started as soon as I walked out of the house and got into my car. After a few blocks I realized I could turn up the music as loud as I wanted. When I got to the massage place and got undressed and lay down on the table, I realized that this was the first time in over five weeks that I knew with 100% certainty that I could lie down for a full hour with no one interrupting me. At that point, I didn't even care if the RMT came in and rubbed my sore muscles - just lying there would have been enough! (She did, though, and it was complete heaven - she gave me such a deep massage that my back and shoulders almost feel bruised today.)
On the way home I realized with some jealousy that Chris gets to do that every day - not get massaged, but leave the house and have interruption-free time. He disagrees, saying that his cell phone is his tool of interruption, but I don't think it's quite the same. His cell phone doesn't chew on his nipples, I'll bet. Nor does it start having a total meltdown if he doesn't pay attention to it within 10 seconds.
Anyway, back to the worry and the guilt. I feel a little guilty that I don't feel too guilty about leaving Gwen yesterday. I feel a little worried that I'm not a good Mom because I didn't worry about her while I was gone. I thought walking out the door would be really hard, but it was the easiest thing in the world. There's totally something wrong with me!
And that's not all. I'm worried that the sleep problems are never going to work themselves out, and that if I don't take charge and fix them we'll still be waking up three times a night when she's 5 years old. I'm worried that if I don't take the exact right approach with fixing them, I'll ruin her life (and ours). I'm worried that it's already too late, as at least one baby book tells me that I should start as I mean to go on and set up a predictable routine (not schedule, but routine) from Day One and since I'm already 40 days overdue, everything is RUINED. (Mind you this same book has a little "what kind of baby do you have" quiz, and I don't know how you could complete that quiz if you were, as instructed, reading that book before baby's birth.)
I feel guilty that I don't enjoy Gwen enough or stimulate her in the right ways because I'm too exhausted to do anything more than count down to her next naptime. I feel guilty because no one at the hospital offered to take her hand or foot prints, and now she's nearly six weeks old and it feels like it's too late to do it and somehow failing to record the size of her feet and hands makes me a bad and unappreciative mother. I feel guilty that I don't force her to do tummy time because she so clearly hates it (but shouldn't she do it more, then, so she gets used to it?) I feel guilty when she screams hysterically in the bath, because it makes me feel like she doesn't trust us to take care of her and keep her safe. I feel guilty that I don't even *know* if she's reaching her milestones because she spends all her time either nursing or sleeping or swaddled. I feel guilty because if she is swaddled so much she might never learn to control her limbs, but it's the only thing that makes her happy during her awake times and makes her fall asleep at bedtime.
The Worry. The Guilt. The Guilt. The Worry. They chase their tails in my brain all day long. Why didn't anyone tell me it would be like this?