Mama Loves Her William

Whenever I log into our pediatrician’s online portal to schedule an appointment for our youngest, Finn, this message is one of the first things that pops up: Jittery infant.

When Finny was born, he was absolutely perfect. Within minutes of holding him, I felt like our family was complete. It is such a cliche to write, but something that I felt down to my toes. Considering I got an epidural and maybe wasn’t able to feel my toes – this means a lot! He was a centimeter shorter and an ounce heavier than his older brother, William. His cries sounded like a baby lamb and every so often his little bottom lip would tremble.

Finn being my second baby, I knew how to take care of myself immediately after his birth; I knew that he would eventually latch; and I also knew not to pay too much attention to the specific words of anyone who came into our hospital room. Don’t mistake my words, I adore the nurses who cared for me and Finn and have so much respect for them and the work they do, but I also know they are human and don’t understand that a statement they made in passing could have such a lasting effect. When I asked the visiting pediatrician about Finn’s trembling lower lip he answered, without even looking at me, that it was likely because I was taking Zoloft while pregnant.

I first started taking Zoloft when I was in the depths of postpartum depression with William, and eventually stopped taking it when William was around one year old. After I stopped breastfeeding and my period became regular, however, I found that I had a really dark week each month. A week in which it was hard for me – a morning person, someone who is always filled with plans, and has never struggled to get motivated – to get out of bed. A week in which I would tell my husband and those closest to me that maybe someone else would be better equipped to raise our son. A week in which I felt like I was about to be fired from my job despite any evidence.

In January of 2022 I was in my first trimester of my pregnancy with Finn, suffering from extreme morning sickness, recovering from Covid and the flu, and about to travel to visit my parents to help take care of my mom after her second breast cancer surgery. I spoke to my doctor about the safety of taking an SSRI when pregnant and she assured me that it was completely safe. She and I had been discussing this due to my “dark week” each month and it felt like the time. My husband assured me of the importance of my wellbeing while taking care of a toddler and growing our second son. So, I started taking Zoloft again.

Finn is now the happiest nine month old baby. He has met every milestone – some early. He greets me each morning with a wet, open-mouthed kiss. He looks me in the eye like I am the best thing he has ever seen. I am still on Zoloft. I returned to work after four months and am as stressed and busy as everyone, but I don’t struggle to get out of bed and I can see what my son sees when he looks at me. I believe that is because of Zoloft. I am just now accepting the he is a healthy, happy baby because of what that visiting pediatrician said. Both things are true.

I dropped my littlest son off at his first day of daycare last Wednesday, just two days shy of him turning five months old. All day I joined meetings and took calls and reviewed work, the whole time feeling like I was missing a limb. I joined my first call with red-rimmed eyes and stole looks at photos of my son on my phone in between meetings, feeling the prickle of my milk coming in. Could my clients and coworkers tell how unmoored I felt? Could they see me eyeing the clock and mentally calculating when I could pick Finn up for the day? Could they tell I had become yet another iteration of a mother?

Finn’s backpack is almost as big as he is

Oh the things I can do with one arm, while holding my littlest baby 

Or while staying level, while wearing that same, sleeping baby 

The amount I get done while pumping milk for when I go back to work 

The way I remember the good stroller snacks for my toddler

How I can go from holding back frustrated tears to a smile so big my face aches in a second 

The conversations around self confidence postpartum exist on opposite spectrums. You’re made to feel like you either need to snap back to your pre-baby self immediately, or you should embrace your post-baby body, stretch marks and all. In reality, we’re all somewhere in the middle.

The thing I know about myself to be true, is that when I feel better about my outward self, I perform better. I never discount the magic ability of a red lip or go-to outfit to make me feel confident for a big meeting, and I have realized that postpartum is no different. I have both boys currently, with Ian traveling, and forced myself to shower and put on jeans for preschool pickup. It may sound silly or superficial, but I know it gave me more confidence to handle dinner, bath, and bedtime solo with a three-year-old and infant.

The thing is, I don’t love how I look right now. My littlest son will be 12 weeks in two days, and in this photo the second thing I see – after his tiny, furled fist, is the wrinkles between my eyebrows. The circles under my eyes are darker these days. There is an extra layer of skin around my middle. There are baby hairs that still haven’t grown out since having my first baby. I know these things are superficial and the most important thing is that I have two healthy, beautiful boys, but I also know that I struggle with feeling confident as a mom and my appearance is a factor.

So, I’ve started making small steps to feel better about my appearance. I got my eyebrows tinted last week. I have a private Pilates session next week. And I just may wear a red lip to my son’s preschool Halloween parade tomorrow.

Breastfeeding is, without a doubt, the hardest thing I have ever done. For something meant to be “natural” it is incredibly challenging physically, and that’s without mentioning the mental and emotional aspects. My son Finn is seven weeks old and has only taken a handful of bottles, so I have been breastfeeding nonstop since his birth.

I oscillate between feeling grateful and resentful when it comes to breastfeeding. There is a lot of pressure that comes with being the sole food source for an infant, and it can be lonely. But sometimes it strikes me that I am exactly what my son needs, and there are so many sweet moments when his little body is curled around me, his tiny hand gripping one of my fingers. When he’s hungry, Finn gets frantic. And when he latches, his clenched fists unfurl and his brow relaxes. My older son, William, would run his ringer along my collarbone once he latched and was contentedly nursing.

It feels so hard to be perpetually tethered to my baby but this time, with my second baby, I am able to lean into it and know it’s not forever.

This is hard to admit, but I used to be terrified of doing anything alone with William. I have been alone for weekends and nights many times, but even in the weeks before having our second baby, the thought of running an errand with my toddler alone made me sweat.

I have now officially been a mom of two little boys for six weeks, and have done preschool pickup, bedtime, and even the pediatrician with BOTH boys. This week I took William to swim alone and it was easy breezy. I had more fun doing swim class with him than I ever have because I am so much more comfortable as a mom.

Like every parent of multiple children, I worry that our second son, Finn, isn’t getting as much undivided attention as William did. But he is getting a mom not suffering from postpartum depression and who is, yes still pretty overwhelmed, but who is still more confident than I was with just one child.

I have also worried about my ability to return to work with the same focus and drive now that I have two kids. I am starting to think that my new perspective, my decisiveness born out of my inability to question myself, will be an asset at work.

I know I will look back upon these days as the days, and there are moments when I want pause time and remember the velvet of my newborn’s head on my lips or my toddler’s voice when he comes home from preschool, but a lot of the time these days feel so hard.

These are the days when my belly feels squishy and my breasts are heavy with milk.

These are the days when I miss the tiny baby I so desperately wanted to put down for a nap in the next room, just minutes after gingerly closing the door.

These are the days when I can’t think beyond the next feeding or nap or else the overwhelm travels up from my toes, threatening to swallow me whole.

These are the days when I feel so exhausted I can feel my eyes in their sockets and so exhilarated the next moment, noticing my toddler’s eyelashes or my newborn’s double chin coming in.

These are the days.

Everyone says that when we bring home our brand-new baby, our toddler will seem like a giant. I know they’re right, but, he’s still so little. He still has chubby toddler hands and sucks on his fingers – not thumb – like he has since he was an infant. He still sleeps with his knees drawn up to his shoulders; and I still watch him sleep on the baby monitor. He still calls me “Mama.”

When I tell people that our second child, arriving in August, is another boy, the responses are usually along the lines of: “You’re in for it!” “Another wild one!” “At least you have all of the ‘boy things.'” “You’ll have your hands full!” They aren’t wrong that there are no shortage of toy trucks in our apartment or that William is a very active, curious little guy. But they miss the sweetness of little boys. The sweetness that is most commonly reserved for little girls. The sweetness that is commonly associated with sitting still.

But I think about a dozen times a day I turn to my husband and ask him if he can believe how sweet our little William is. I recently read a quote about raising boys from Joanna Goddard that I loved: “My #1 mission in life is to raise kind boys. I lie awake thinking about how to help them keep their innate sweetness intact as they grow … Boys often get a bad rap, especially in TV and movies, as stinky, rude, thankless creatures raised by their long-suffering mothers. But, over the past decade, my experience has shown me something completely different. I’ve met a hundred little boys, and they’re consistently sweet, vulnerable, funny, and beautiful; and they desperately want to be good, kind, and loved.”

So, yes I’m excited for my second little boy to arrive because I know the innate sweetness he’ll have (along with a little it of his brother’s wild).