Sometimes it still feels surreal that I’m already a mother. I welcomed 2018 as my usual spontaneous, introspective single self, and said goodbye to it feeling like my old self…but minus the spontaneity and with a little creature literally depending on me for sustenance.
The first few weeks were the toughest. A rite of passage. I went through the whole gamut of sleepless nights (baby has been the fussy, colicky sort. His penetrative cries were haunting!), the unnerving streaks of paranoia (Palagi ko siya gusto irush sa ER. Something always seemed not quite right.), and the excruciating pains of breastfeeding for the first time. On top of those are the messy ‘aftershocks’ of giving birth–maternity pads don’t exist for nothing.
It wasn’t until my son turned a month old that I started to chill a wee bit. I’m beginning to decode his cries, to enjoy breastfeeding, to recognize my own body again after shedding the souvenir baby pouch, to trust my instincts as a mom (while also taking into consideration the wisdom of the experienced moms around me), to love the learning ropes of this season. I’m new to this motherhood thing afterall.
My baby and I, we both learn (A LOOOOT) as we go along.