Motherhood so far

Is it okay to admit motherhood is not exactly what I expected? Granted, I've long set too-high expectations for everything in life, and I'm often reminded of this flaw when motherhood proves more than I can handle.

Before baby Vera arrived, I dreamed of cuddling her all day while still getting stuff done around the house and preparing a full course meal each night. I thought after dinner, my husband and I would enjoy family time with our daughter, playing with her a bit and then rocking her to sleep with a lullaby after she's been bathed, read to and in her teeny pajamas. Oh, and then we all awake in the morning, fully rested.

Oh, naivety, you've long been my enemy.

Reality check: In the first few weeks, I did almost live on the couch holding our newborn. I was afraid to put her down for naps in her bassinet over fears she would either wake up or stop breathing. And I was too exhausted to move anywhere else, having been up throughout the night to nurse and worn out from the colic that plagued our baby from 6 p.m. to 10 p.m. I didn't have the energy to think about making a grocery list or making dinner, which is why I'm still grateful for the meals I made ahead of time and put in the freezer and those our friends and my parents dropped off. I watched laundry pile up and cried grateful tears to myself when my mom came over and spent hours cleaning and cooking so I could sleep.

When I was pregnant, my sweet grandmother continually reminded me to be joyful so the baby would be joyful, too. I tried my darnedest and really thought I'd stuck to her request. I'm so thankful that God gave us a healthy baby; she has 10 fingers and 10 toes, the cutest smile and the prettiest pair of brown eyes you'll ever see, though deep down I'd hoped they'd be green. But I can't help but wonder why we've had to endure so much with her in such a short amount of time. I thought I was a happy, prayerful preggo.

In the hospital, when Vera wasn't sleeping, she was almost inevitably crying, especially at night. I can't tell you how many times we buzzed for the nurse because neither one of us knew what else to do. We learned she didn't like to be swaddled. She still gets mad when we put a shirt over her head and through her arms. And she's finicky about her swing. I thought those were Godsends!

I took her to our pediatrician at least three times in her first month. He diagnosed her with acid reflux and put her on medication, which still bothers me. And he chalked up our worries -- gassiness, tummy troubles, etc.-- to colic. Thankfully, in the past month or so, it only lasts about two or so hours. Like clockwork, Vera starts her uncontrollable sobbing right at 7 p.m. and doesn't quit until we can get her to sleep around 9:30. Our only reprieve is her 20 minute bath. It's exhausting, draining, frustrating ... we've tried everything we can think of,  read about or gotten advice on. And I got my hopes up hearing colic goes away at three months ... Vera will be four months in 12 days.

Aside from the colic and reflux issues, she's also struggled with taking a bottle. I even went out and bought the newest, most-like-the-real-thing bottle and she still refuses to take it. All I want is to be able to leave her for a few hours now and then without having to rush back to nurse. I don't know how else to plead with her ...

I adore my daughter. I can't imagine my life without her. And I am not complaining about her. I'm excited about all the milestones she's hit and those to come. She gives me a new purpose in this life. During the day, she smiles and giggles and loves when I read to her. Granted, she does demand more attention than I imagined, so I often have her crying as my background noise when I'm trying to throw in laundry, clean the bathroom or get dinner ready.

But tonight, my husband and I hit a wall. We regret reading any books and online resources and listening to well-intentioned family and friends -- we unintentionally set too-high expectations for our first born. We tried to put her in a box. We wanted her to be 'this kind of baby' or 'that kind of baby' and didn't let her just be Vera, taking things day by day. For instance, I don't want to know at what age babies sleep through the night because every baby is different; and if Vera isn't falling in that "norm," we'll get upset or confused.

We want so badly to enjoy every minute of her life, but at times, we have to leave in her in her crib, crying, and walk away, too frustrated to do anything else.

I keep praying for God to at least take away the colic, to grant us some reprieve. Sometimes, I feel like He gave us more than we can handle, like he threw us all these crazy quirks of hers at once. But then I'm reminded of the verse that He doesn't do that.

I think I'm beginning to see His plan. I tend to react quickly to situations and have very little patience. I was listening to a radio program in the car the other day and these parents were talking about discipline and different approaches with different children. I think God is trying to help me gain more patience with Vera now so I'll be a better parent when she's older, so I won't react in a way I'll regret.

And I feel like I keep failing.

I never dreamed my patience would ever be tested with an infant. And I don't really think it should. It isn't as though they know what they're doing. They're just trying to figure out this new world. I feel like we are, too.