My daughter’s shrieks pierced through my consciousness as I opened my eyes and slowly, painfully sat up in bed. My husband woke, too, as if in a daze and automatically turned on the bedside lamp.

Mechanically, he picked up the screaming baby and placed her into my tired arms. I looked down at the red, angry face of my six-day old daughter, her accusing tear-filled eyes, little fists punching through the blankets, and I cried. Stupidly, I just looked at her and cried, too.

“Well, are you going to feed her?” my husband asked.

“I don’t know,” I sobbed. “I just want to sleep! Please! I just want to sleep!”

My husband sat looking at me, feeling helpless. Our daughter’s shrieks were getting angrier, but my tears kept flowing.

I was so tired, so very tired. I hurt all over. My C-section had left me temporarily handicapped and feeling sorry for myself. All I wanted was to be able to lie in bed for one night and sleep. All I wanted was a few hours of rest and quiet. Was that too much to ask? Was I being a horrible mother? Must I rouse my tired, battered body up every hour and a half to satisfy my daughter’s own selfish desires?

Maybe I wasn’t meant for this.

Oh God, why doesn’t she just shut up! Just the thought of her little sucking mouth latching unto my raw, painful nipples made me cringe. I looked at my husband, flopped down on the bed, his body screaming his exhaustion, his eyes drooping closed, their own silent defiance to this seeming chaos that had overtaken our lives. I thought of going out into the streets and handing her off to the first passersby. The thought was tempting.

Oh, I was a terrible mother.

I looked down at my baby again. Her little button nose. Her full, pink lips now contorted with rage. She hiccupped and I smiled. She was mine.

“It’s OK, sweetheart,” I cooed. “It’s OK.”

Un-strapping my bra, I coaxed her searching mouth to my nipples. Bracing myself, I waited for the searing pain that was to follow. She latched, sighed, and sucked noisily. In a couple of minutes, the pain was gone and I gazed adoringly as my baby nourished herself from my body.

I am going to be a good mother.

By Inga Wahle

Labels: Inga Wahle

Stumble This Post