One of the sites that I follow, The Fussy Baby Site, has a father of a spirited daughter contribute once a month. It's refreshing and interesting to read about child-rearing from the male perspective. Yesterday he posted about the lonely mothers of fussy babies and that despite their need for support, they simply don't ask for help. He writes,
Mothers don’t ask for help because they’re supposed to be able to do it themselves. It’s in their nature after all, right? To ask for help would be to admit that they’ve failed at the one thing they’re more or less born to be good at.
It’s similar to a man being laid off. If he can’t hold down a job, what good is he? He’ll often slip into a depression; have trouble finding his way back again.
For a woman, admitting to herself, let alone to someone else, that her baby is driving her crazy, that she resents her lack of sleep and her baby’s screaming would be to admit that there’s something wrong with her, not the baby.
She “should” be able to handle the screaming, the sleepless nights, a creature suddenly demanding all of her resources, all of her patience, and every last ounce of her goodwill. After all, it’s a mother’s role, and mothers have always managed before. But of course they haven’t. Not on their own.
I can relate to this as I'm sure all mothers can. In the first few months after Jr. was born, I thought Never again. This is just too hard. When I heard about other parents with babies even younger than Jr. talking about having another one I thought there was something wrong with me. Why didn't I feel the same way? Why did I resent my own flesh and blood, the child I wanted so badly, the baby I prayed and prayed for? Was this a "be careful what you wish for" scenario?
Each day and each night I struggled. Struggled through the screaming, the crying, the fussiness. The lack of sleep! Oh the lack of sleep! I thought I knew what tired was before Jr. but nothing compares to the utter sleep deprivation of a baby who won't sleep. I thought I was losing my mind. There's a reason why sleep deprivation is used in torture. Because it is. Torture.
Many people offered their help: my parents, my sisters, my close friend, our church family... but I couldn't accept their help. I couldn't bring myself to call and say, "Help me. I'm drowning." There was always a reason. My sisters had their own kids to deal with. My close friend lived too far away. I didn't want to burden my church family who are mostly elderly. I didn't want to admit to my parents that I was failing. That's what it felt like. Like I was failing. Besides, if I had gotten through XYZ days and even months without help, why couldn't I keep doing it? It would be like calling in sick to work when you're not really sick, just under the weather. I would feel like I was taking advantage.
I was often told that every mother had had help at some point by someone, that no one does it alone. Logically I knew this to be true but I still looked at my mom and my sisters and thought of them as resilient. They were tough and I wasn't. They didn't need help but I did.
What it really comes down to is pride. Now I understand why pride is one of the seven deadly sins. It will kill you. It's not that pride is a bad thing in and of itself. To be proud of your accomplishments, to be proud of someone else, is good. But pride becomes destructive when it consumes you and blinds you to the truth. The truth was, I needed help and I should have been humble enough to ask for it.
If anyone thinks they are something when they are not, they deceive themselves. Each one should test their own actions. Then they can take pride in themselves alone, without comparing themselves to someone else, for each one should carry their own load. ~ Galatians 6:3-5
You're an amazing mom!! I'm always here for you!!
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