Motherhood is, without a doubt, the best and hardest thing I have ever done. All of my preparations for motherhood were physical: taking vitamins, practicing yoga, preparing a nursery. And while these things surely helped, there is really nothing that could prepare me, mentally and emotionally, for this new role.
Everything is a dichotomy. I want to be alone and yet I miss my child desperately when I am. I am always sleep deprived and thus even less cheerful than I was before (I have never been described as having a sunny disposition, but that's part of my charm), and yet I find it impossible to be anything less than "on" for him, enthusiastically responding to his coos and tempering his cries with, what I assume are, soothing noises. Every single day feels as long as a year, and yet I go nowhere and get nothing done.
Sometimes I forget I lived a whole life before him. Sometimes I run out of ways to entertain him. Sometimes I feel like a dairy cow. Sometimes I put him in the Moby wrap and pray he falls asleep, even for 20 minutes, so that I can collect myself. Sometimes I text my husband at 10:30 am to tell him that I cannot possibly do this today (but of course I can, and do).
I try to remember that each day he's a little bit older, and each day I'm a little bit better at this whole mama thing. Thankfully each day is usually incrementally easier than the one before.
(Although sometimes I have to apply this concept by the hour.)
Happy two months, E.