SuperMommy

We brought Hudson home from the hospital 8 weeks ago today. It is 8:40 pm as I write this, listening to the baby monitor, praying that those noises Hudson is making are not awake noises. The grunts, moans, sighs. The sound of his head thumping the mattress as he flops it back and forth. As I sit here, enveloped by the quiet of the evening, I notice that I am clenching. I am clenching my hands as I write, my jaw as I listen, my toes as I sit here “relaxing” while my baby sleeps. Tonight, my Prayer sounds something like this, “Please, God let him sleep.” I repeat it over and over like a mantra, and my stomach lurches as I recall the scene from this afternoon.

It had been such a great morning. As a reading teacher and a book addict, I was so excited to take my son on his very first trip to Barnes and Noble. I was no longer afraid of this tiny 10-pound bundle of untranslatable needs, raw emotions, and intense expectations. I knew how to handle his cues now, how to quiet his storms, soothe his frazzled nerves, and unruffle his downy feathers.

I had seen those mothers before. The ones that could pick up a screaming child with the ease of a seasoned pro, hold them and coddle them and never look harried or stressed. These supermoms did not appear to worry about what other people thought as they swiftly found the baby’s problem and fixed it before anyone could become annoyed. They always retrieved the bottle easily and changed a diaper in record time, without making a mess or embarrassing anyone. Their stroller wheels never locked up on them. Their insanely heavy diaper bag never fell from their shoulder to their elbow with such a thud that they almost dropped their baby to the floor. Supermoms seemed to really know their children, and I thought that Hudson and I had finally arrived at that place. We had spent Every Waking Moment of every day together, and I felt that we now knew each other well enough to venture out into the wide world. My fear was gone. Besides, I was equipped with a full bottle of freshly pumped breast milk.

The trip was a great success, but once we got home from our adventure … the nightmare began. Hudson’s screams cut deep into my heart and pierced the bubble of pride that had surrounded me all day. I tried everything I knew. I rocked, swung, walked, strolled, read, sang, shushed, gave him a bottle, gave him a breast. When none of that helped, I started working on me. My hands were clenched, and when I tried to relax them, my shoulders tightened into knotted ropes. It was like my body was rejecting my attempts at peace like an unwanted organ, and I knew that Hudson could feel it, too. I recognized the darkness in my spirit, even though I did not want to name it … fear. It was back.

I took slow deep breaths, tried to stay calm, to force myself to feel confident. “We’ll be ok,” I cooed, more to me than to Hudson. “Daddy will be home soon. Hudson is just hungry, sleepy, bored, wet. He needs to burp, poop, eat. He needs gas drops, fresh air, swaddling.” Every other word held a crack in my voice. Every other gulp of air contained a sob waiting to explode from my lungs. Hudson was screaming with a panicked and terrified look on his face, which I knew mirrored my own countenance

After two hours Hudson was no longer crying alone, I was bawling. Too many days like this had taken their toll on me. I had not felt this afraid, helpless and alone since the day we brought him home from the hospital. The fear had returned, in spades. I felt myself crying out to God that I could not handle any more, that He had given me a burden that was too great for me. I felt it; I could no longer hear any of my own thoughts above the screaming and crying, Hudson’s and mine respectively. Between my fear and helplessness there was no room for rational thought, only panic. I wanted to pray but had no idea how, or what to say, or even where God was! When we fall to a place where we cannot find words, then “the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express (Romans 8:26).”

Then God answered the prayer of my groans, the prayer I did not even know I was praying. As I walked past the refrigerator, I noticed the list of phone numbers posted there, the numbers of my friends from church. I started at the top and worked my way down. When I called Joan, her daughter could not hear me, as Hudson was screaming in my arms. She kept saying “Hello? Hello?” and I made a mental note to tell her that whenever a screaming baby calls her house, to just hand the phone to her mom.

Joan came right over, followed by Carol and, later, her husband Gregg. Carol took me on a walk while Joan and Gregg took care of Hudson. In the cool quiet of the afternoon, I was able the settle my heart and center my mind through the blessing of God’s creation and the comfort and companionship of a friend that He sent to me.

As we approached the front door, I could hear my tiny, precious boy wailing away inside. I felt my stomach knot and my head began to pound. How I wanted it to be over. But for now I was calm, the panic abated. Somehow, even though Hudson still cried, the community that surrounded me, shielding me, gave me a respite.

Before the troops arrived, I was alone and helpless. I could not imagine from where my help would come. I could not pray, lacking the ability to form thoughts. But now, my community prayed for me, and I could clearly see. “I lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth (Paslm 121:1).” The God who created all that I see will provide me with the help I need to care for this tiny baby. And more than that … He already had.

This day held a lesson, one that makes me a better Mommy for having learned it. Yes, I am again fearful. Yes, I am vulnerable. I am not supermommy and I will never be. But in exchange for that title, I have received a better one. I am the Mommy who has faith. I now know, and know clearly, that the Holy Spirit intercedes for me when I cannot express my needs to my Father. No, I had not failed, I had graduated.