quiet nights; hard nights

So much has been on my mind and in my heart lately, and I have had no time or space to express it.

Long, tear-filled nights of mama begging baby to sleep while he destroys the apartment. We have been at odds. Frustrated with each other, neither one getting what we need. Today I finally gave in. I stopped saying "no", stopped trying to redirect, stopped everything. You want to climb the table? Okay, I'll take everything off. You want to be up? Okay, up we go. Down? Alright. Mamamamamamama? I'm right here. Bored? Here's tupperware; eat that book, it's yours.

And we're okay today. We're good, even. Asleep by 10, and that's a big step. Only a few moments of big big frustration on my part. We are starting to find a groove and sync up.

I didn't expect this. I thought, as rough as daycare had been, that it would be a breeze to be able to be with him every day, all day. And while it's beautiful and sweet and glorious to not miss a moment, it's been so hard. So hard to realize that in the time I was working, he flourished from teeny baby to big bad almost-toddler. One toy for an hour isn't cutting it. Baby is bored. And mama has to be on top of it. So no more 3 day rainy stretches at home, and no more endless snuggles. This busy boy needs to get out and conquer the world.

And so, we do. And in that, I step so very far out of my comfort zone. I am not a social person at heart, nor am I good at doing new things alone. I feel awkward and uncomfortable and afraid. And this kid? He makes me better. For his sake, I make friends. For his sake, I leave the house. For his sake, I am bold and strong.

When I say he saved me, I mean it. I looked at him tonight, in a brief moment of snuggles, and burst into tears. Took those chubby cheeks in my hands and kissed that drool right off his face. It's so hard, and so much, and so sweet.

I try not to feel resentful, or angry, or anything like that. And mostly, I succeed. But then I think (okay, so often I think...), nobody really gets this. I have single mom friends, who get nights off when their ex takes the baby and child support. Yeah, you don't get it. I have married mom friends who say "I might as well be single" or complain (fairly) about their husbands. Shut up. I smile with something akin to grace and empathy. But inside? I'm screaming.

I feel deeply lucky and blessed for my life and my son. But if only I had one person who could actually understand. But, I know deep down, no one ever will. My path is hard and strange and unique. My fears are huge and no amount of empathy salves them. My late-night pain? It's just mine. And mostly, I take deep breaths. I hold my son and promise him big big promises that he will know the best life possible.

Some days, I don't think I can come close to raising him right. Some days, it feels hopeless and endless and tired and pain and grey. Some days I wonder and wish and dream and want how it was before. And then there's this little person, this special perfect little person who chose me. Who screams and laughs and smiles and tells me mamamamama and claps and dances and  loves me. This little baby turned boy who looks at me with open, endless, unaltered love. And I think, this is the love I've dreamed of. This sweet soft cheek against mine, this bright eyed smile, this playful little dreamer. This baby is all me, and all mine.

It doesn't change anything, but it helps.

And the friends. The friends who, while they cannot understand, they know. They know my story and my path and all the reasons why I am who I am. Why this boy is extra special material.

Eli, my big strong crazy monkey man, you are it. I made you from starlight, all by myself. And you can do anything; just watch your mama. I'll make you proud; and of you I always will be.