I’m glad I didn’t finish writing some of the blog posts that I started last year.

It wasn’t a bad season—certainly the best since 2020.

But if I circle back to the first three months of Christopher’s life, it was a sleep-deprived, COVID-heavy mess. Being a new mom, even with a strong and generous community, can be very isolating.

Please note some scrapped blog post ideas that live only on the Notes app of my phone:

The 7 Things No One Tells You About Being a New Mom (honestly this one still has potential, but it’s been done)
Breastfeeding: It Sucks (a bit on the nose)
Why I Hate Breastfeeding (more on the nose)
Can Someone Else Please Wash the Parts to My Pump?
Planes, Trains, and Poop Soup
Facebook is Making Me Think My Baby Will Die, and Other Late Night Anecdotes

Maybe I’ll finish some of what I started. But while I was writing this past year, I couldn’t find my tone—somewhere between visual, humorous, and… what? There was a piece missing in my musings. And it seemed there was not one single extra hour in any given day to devote to my mind’s rambling narrative.

There’s a period after you give birth that’s so animalistic: Feed baby, eat, feed baby, nap, feed baby, clean your wounds, feed baby.
Feed baby.
Feed baby.
Feed baby!

Sometimes Christopher nursed 10 - 12 times a day, and never for less than 40 minutes. The cluster feeding from 3 pm to 8 pm was so incredible, I simply sat in my bra and binge-watched TV, baby attached, for weeks. I had been naively excited to have my body back to myself after birth, and the realization that this wasn’t an option for breastfeeding parents was probably the most difficult part of my entire becoming-mommy experience.

I remember sitting on the couch, completely exhausted, crying as Christopher cried. He wouldn’t stop screaming. I’d been blissfully surrounded by family for several days at a time, but now it was month two. My husband was leaving for work, and I told him through tired tears that I was jealous of his arrangement. Ryan, of course, did not want to go back to the office—if anything, he was probably sick to his stomach leaving me behind. But it was so deliciously wild to me that he was able to get dressed, walk outside, and step back into a world we used to know. I desperately wanted a taste of my prior exsistence. As I sat in my nursing bra and blue robe, bloated and leaking, with a screaming baby in my lap, I wanted a pre-pandemic late night in the East Village. I wanted to dance on someone’s rooftop while we drank cheap wine and talked about the new blah blah blah album. I would even take a quick run to the local coffee shop—anything but the couch and the boobies and the crying!

As we enter the one-year-old phase, I can look back on the baby days with much more fondness and gratitude. It was a special time Christopher and I shared together. My only purpose was to carefully introduce him to his new, often turbulant, sometimes beautiful world and to somehow sustain my own wellbeing. I’m not sure I understood how difficult this assignment would be for me—the extrovert, who thrives on to-do lists, a packed calendar, and the knowledge that I’m generally doing just fine. Motherhood is interesting because you don’t really know if you’re doing just fine or if you’re actually doing quite awful. The lack of expertise in being a parent mixed with the lack of affirmation from the small human you are desperately trying to keep alive can be a real kick in the tush.

People tell you to cherish the baby phase, but for me, it was hard to do so until about month three. Then, everything started changing. If I didn’t like a stage we were in or a schedule we had, two weeks later, we’d be on a new one—Christopher rapidly morphed every two weeks until suddenly he was an exceedingly charming six-month-old. And after they start to smile? Watch out. You might become totally obsessed with your child. You might stare at photos of them while you’re apart, or bore people with weird details, like that fact that your darlin’ baby sugga pie likes hummus! And they can stack cups!

But even now, when I pass new parents on the street, I can’t help but give them the HOPE-YOU’RE-OK-eyes. Then, I say a little prayer for their sanity, and I think of the time Christopher pooped on me as our plane descended into Chicago. The ill-smelling brown soup leaked all the way into my shoes. Ah, babies.

“Christopher, can you dance?” He sits on his butt and starts aggressively bouncing up and down while whapping our dog, laughing at the joy of it all. He likes music and banging things together. Recently he’s starting “dancing” and “singing,” repeating the same sound and changing his tone.

He loves the neighborhood onigiri—a big rice ball wrapped in seaweed with a scoop of salmon inside—and recently he housed an entire avocado tostada. He typically wants whatever I’m eating. We stare at each other, chewing, smiling, chewing. Sometimes, he sticks a grubby hand out with a half-eaten piece of mush on it and smiles, wanting to share his precious goop with Mama.

He’s also suddenly obsessed with board books. One day, the concept of flipping through the pages just clicked. If I’m sitting on the couch, he’ll drag The Very Hungry Caterpillar to me with a huge grin and try to place it my lap. “Bah bah!” he exclaims, showing me his teeth and clapping.

Perhaps, besides lack of time, I didn’t finish many a blog post this year because I couldn’t wrap up any of my narratives with a nice bow—motherhood doesn’t often have a nice bow. The humor, that comes with the passage of time, was missing. It wasn’t funny when Christopher bit me so hard a piece of my body fell off (!!). But now, I can see the relatable humor in the situation. Sort of.

There are also moments that are only retrospectively notable. It wasn’t significant when we met up with friends in Sunset Park for an afternoon stroll. But now, it makes me think of the huge smile Christopher flashed the first time “Dada” pushed him on the swings. It was a big day—we just didn’t know it until after the day had passed.

When Christopher offers me his half-eaten mush, or claps while we listen to music, or laughs when I read to him in a funny voice, I have that bow I was seeking in early motherhood.

I have my happy endings—and hardships and lessons and humor—when I can take a moment for myself and find them.

And oh the beautiful, chaotic moments you are surrounded by when you are Mama.