My First Mother’s Day

“Consciousness longs for the healing power of nature, for the deep wells of being, and for an unconscious communion with life in its countless forms.”

— Carl G. Jung

With Luka just one week away from turning seven months old, he has already started eating those famous “solids.”

The pediatrician said that eating more and filling his little stomach should help him sleep for longer stretches—in his crib and in his own room.

But no.

Luka is not sleeping for longer stretches. He is not sleeping in his crib, and he is definitely not sleeping in his room.

So I find myself wondering: Is Luka the problem, or am I?

Sleep-deprived, exhausted, and hopeful; sometimes discouraged and frustrated. Happy on some days and deeply sad on others.

Helping Luka adapt to this world has been, for the most part, my responsibility. And they warned me about it very clearly during our prenatal classes.

“Don’t breastfeed your baby unless he is hungry. Otherwise, he will start using you as a pacifier.”

When I took those classes, I thought: How simple! I even wrote down exact breastfeeding schedules. With a background in logistics, timing is essential.

But in motherhood, time seems not to exist.

The baby wakes up every two hours during the night—not because he is hungry, but because he needs my breast. During those first few months, I still checked the clock. Now, I only know how many times he wakes up because I check my Whoop in the morning. At night, pulling him close has become something I do automatically.

I admit that I regret it a little. I wish I could get more rest. I also recognize that I feel a certain envy: I am such a light sleeper that the slightest sound from Luka wakes me, while his dad sleeps soundly, completely undisturbed.

“Don’t let him sleep with you.”

He slept in his crib for exactly one night. Every other night, up to this day, he has slept beside me.

I used to say that I would breastfeed for only six months—or until his first teeth appeared—because I was terrified of being bitten. He already has two teeth. He is almost seven months old. And I am still breastfeeding.

To be fair, I rarely breastfeed him during the day anymore. He drinks his milk from a bottle without any trouble. The challenge comes at night, when, caught somewhere between his crying and my attempts to comfort him, I prefer to hold him against me until we both fall asleep.

Today, I began reading a book* written by a mother of two. She says:

“Few experiences in life offer an opportunity to know yourself as deeply as motherhood. Becoming a mother will exhaust you, fill you with fear, and make you cry. It will also awaken joy, doubt, humor, fulfillment, anger, terror, shame, irritation, inadequacy, grief, anxiety, and love.”

I agree with her deeply.

Motherhood is allowing me to expand my consciousness—to find freedom within my constraints and fulfillment within my emptiness. Most of all, it is teaching me to love without needing anything in return.

Today, I celebrate every mother: those of us who work outside the home; those who have chosen to be stay-at-home mothers—a role infinitely more exhausting than any office job; and those of us who, either by choice or necessity, are trying to merge both lives into one.

Happy Mother’s Day.

*Book: Motherhood, by Lisa Marchiano