Mikaela Judd - The Salty Truth
I saw my mom cry once. We were standing in a grocery store checkout line. She’d lost a 50-cent coupon.
That’s the kind of mom I wanted to be. The tough kind who cut coupons and doesn’t cry. The kind who didn’t need an epidural. Whose husband could drop her at home after birthing her third child to a house filled with an 8-year-old, a 6-year-old, and zero diapers.
I‘m not that kind of mom. My truth is a lot saltier.
My body was wrecked after birth. My emotions raw. My sense of self a swinging pendulum of doubt and determination. It still is.
In the light of day I’m a relatively happy new mommy. I giggle and cuddle and dance with my baby like a modern-day, rhythmless rockstar. But in the middle of the night, when my husband’s snores rumble through our bedroom door and mingle with my baby’s cries, I’m a 30-something firecracker who teeters between loving brilliance and chaotic meltdown.
Sometimes I text with other weary-eyed moms or read ebooks. Sometimes I sing country ballads or practice deep breathing. And other times I cry. Little tears that sneak from the corner of my eyes. Big fat tears that drip onto my baby. Ugly cry tears that pour from me in body wracking sobs.
It’s getting better. There are fewer nights when she does nothing but eat and scream. More nights when she sleeps. And I sleep. And together, we share a few waking moments that are deliciously soft and warm.
I love those nights. I’m trying to lean into those nights. To let them fortify me.
Sitting here, typing this — sharing and complaining — feels indulgent.
Garrett and I didn’t struggle to conceive. My pregnancy was a relatively easy one — except for the 11-pound first-trimester puking diet.
My birth, likewise, was ‘ideal,’ according to the nurses.
So to ‘complain’ — to vent — to share — feels like I’m taking up space that should be given to moms with real problems. Moms who are dragging themselves to and from the NICU. Moms who are holding their rainbow baby so close for fear and joy. Moms who can’t find happiness in something as simple as a hike or a cup of coffee.
To admit that this is hard seems like I’m diminishing others. And yet, it is bloody hard. I’d like to think motherhood has brought out the best in me. And in many ways it has.
I’m patient on a level I didn’t know I could be. I have a new sense of compassion for those holding screaming babies in public. I’m learning to show my body the grace it deserves, love on the soft spots where I’ve developed extra dimples and jiggles.
I get it now, why my mom says, ‘I always loved you. But I liked you more the older you got.’
It’s a salty reality to realize that I love this motherhood thing, but sometimes I just wish she’d hurry up and wipe her own ass. So cheers to loving always, crying sometimes, and liking the littles more and more each day.
Mikaela and I recently met through a mutual friend at an event where I immediately took full advantage of holding her precious baby girl. After giving her an IG follow, as one does when they meet someone new these days, I connected with this new mum right away. She isn’t afraid to peel back the layers of motherhood and reveal the honest and vulnerable truths. I wholly believe her voice needs to be heard amongst the cloudy fog of postpartum emotions that are experienced in so many mothers. New or third or fourth or even fifth child… postpartum is the real deal and I’m so appreciative of women like Mikaela who are open to sharing their journey in hopes of helping others seek comfort.
Thank you Mikaela!
There are many resources for postpartum. If you feel you are suffering, seek out help by reaching out to other supportive mothers or the following organizations and online quiz: