mother

Every day I look at my son, and I discover new angles and planes to his face that I've never seen before.
He changes bit-by-bit, right before my eyes, so that there is always something new to see if I just give him enough time.

Being a mother is hard.

Lately I keep wondering if I was really cut out for this job, or if I only thought I was (and wanted to be).

Is that possible, though?
Are you meant to be a mother as soon as your child arrives in your arms? Or is it possible to have a child, and yet not possible to be a mother?

(I know I'm treading on shaky ground here. I don't mean that I don't want to be a mother, but rather am I meant to be one. There is a difference.)

I feel sad, and guilty, and very ashamed admitting that motherhood makes me feel completely inadequate. Especially because I really felt like I had a handle on this whole thing--yes, the first five months were tough in the sleep-deprivation, discovering-a-new-person, figuring-out-breastfeeding, etc. sort of ways. But I felt like I was doing it well. I had the routine down, I had the hippie "communicate with your baby" principles, and everyone was pretty happy.

But now? Now I feel like I'm stumbling and tripping through motherhood. It feels awkward, and all I can see are the holes where my inadequacies are staring me in the face. I look around, and it looks like all the other moms with babies my age have finally hit their stride, and I'm sad, because I feel like I've passed mine.
Already?

I just don't feel like I have enough--not enough patience, not enough kindness, not enough knowledge, not enough energy, not enough ______.

Most days, I hit the couch around three p.m. and I look at Jameson and think, "What am I supposed to do with you now?" And there is guilt, for letting my child down, for not being what he needs.

(I hope you know the risk I'm taking here, by telling you this.)

Most days (but not all. Not enough.) I get so much joy out of being a mother.
I love watching him grow and change.
I like going for walks to cafes, and drinking coffee while he learns to eat.
I love making him smile, and hearing him laugh and knowing that it's me he finds so funny.
I love that he's learning how to hug, and he wraps his arms so tight around my neck and burrows his face in the hollow of my throat.
I love that he makes so many noises now, and just stares while I talk, soaking it all in.
I love the swelling in my heart that I get when I look at him, and the awe that he is mine washes over me once more.

But then a bad day comes, and the house of cards comes crashing down, and I've got to build it all up once again. I just think about how I just have to get through that day, get to eight p.m., when I can nurse my son and lay him in his crib, and just sit still for a moment. Then there are a blessed few hours until I have to get up the next morning and do it all over again.

I don't know how to do this, motherhood.

I only know how to love him with an overflowing, ever-present love, and I just hope that it's enough.