When some people read this, it may not seem like me. However, if you knew me before 2008 (when I gave my life to Christ) this is nothing but a glimpse at my high-strung, sensitive, tired of biting my tongue self. I’m sure there’s someone who will associate this post with some post partum depression, but trust me I’m not depressed. My baby is here and I’m in love. I talk, laugh, and enjoy all my days with her.

Admittedly as a new mother I have much to learn. I’ve been lucky enough to have someone here to help for a week (a gift from my mom) and I do what I can to watch what she does in order to get a better handle on what I’m doing. Still, it bothers me that so many people treat me as though I haven’t a clue in life what I’m doing. Like I should be enrolled in some sort of mommy slow learners class cause I just don’t get it.

There’s this thing about being a new mom that everyone and their grandmom want to teach you how to do it because of course you don’t know how. Sure you’ve all but mastered how to change diapers (you’ve had a loose one once or twice), you recognize feeding cues and manage to get a warm bottle ready within a few minutes, you’ve figued out how to ease their tummy pain and instinctively changed their bottles to minimize the gas. No matter. There’s still something to be said for the leaky, poopy diaper. The baby sh** up everything and it’s a mess to clean because you didn’t put the diaper on tight enough. The five minutes it took to get the bottle ready is read like an hour because the baby is hollering at the top of her lungs and doesn’t want a doggone pacifier.

So easily advice is given, “You have help so you should rest.” Okay it’s bad enough that I feel some sort of way that I was failing enough that someone thought I needed additional help. Or the fact that I can’t seem to pump out more than two ounces of breast milk a day and at this point that’s not enough to suppliment even one feeding. Then there’s the folks who want to come see the baby but then ask when is it okay for them to come when I wouldn’t require they be up-to-date with their flu shots. It’s been hinted at that I’m being a little crazy requiring that of folks coming to see my two-week old. Cause I mean let’s face it, it wasn’t like it was so hard to get her here, healthy, and breathing. So since I get an F mark on everything else, I should rest and not call social security, file for her birth certificate, update the insurance, pay bills, wash her clothes, shop for things like better bottles and warmers to make the baby comfotable, take her to the doctor, take myself to the doctor, and whatever else I need to do in order to be settled when I don’t have help.

Welp, “Eff YOU!” Yup, I said  it. On behalf of every mom who has ever been made to feel inadequate, “Eff YOU!” There it is again. We are doing the best we can and although there are some hiccups, we’re actually pretty okay at this mommy thing. The baby gets fed, changed, taken for health checks, kissed, and rocked to sleep with love. Tons of it. Really. Cause we know how to do that. You don’t want a shot, don’t come see her. Not like you’re coming with lunch or an offer to clean, something I could really use. You want me to rest, cool. Let me give you the list of things you can file while I’m resting. Oh wait, you can’t cause I’m the mother.

The funny thing about it all is that so many mothers feel this way due to their parents or in-laws. My mom is the only person who has said to me, “Looks like you got the hang of this.” Maybe she’ll read this and know that other that getting my daughter’s clean bill of health, that is the single best thing anyone has said to me in the past two weeks. My daughter’s Godmother’s, mother (take your time figuring the relationship) is good too. She offers help with no opinion of how I’m doing. She just wants to be an extra set of hands. I appreciate that too. So to you guys, I’m not effing you. Can you tell I’m calming down? I was raging when I started this post.

Anyhow, moms I salute you. You’re doing an amazing job even with the couple of diaper spills and the use of a bottle that creates too much gas. You love your child and you’re working at getting better. When someone treats you like you don’t do ish or you’re a freaking moron, remember I said, “Eff ’em!” There, now I feel better.

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