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My Personal Parenting PTSD

Over the weekend I hosted a women’s dinner where we celebrated our uteruses by winding our fallopian tubes around the moon, and dancing our menses deep into the earth’s core. Or we made quinoa and grilled some fish. Whatever.

My goddess friend Olivia brought her precious priestess daughter, a mere babe of 7 months. They were like one glorious unit – the perfect depiction of the serene Madonna and child. As I gazed upon their unbounded beauty, and how physically/spiritually/emotionally interwoven they were, I thought to myself, “Holy fuck how did I ever get through that baby stage? That shit was hard as fuck.”

Looking back, I still cannot believe how much work it was to keep that thing alive and happy. It was so intense, I actually blocked out a lot of the experience. Watching Olivia, I realized that she was in this whole other dimension of babyness that I couldn’t relate to – not because I didn’t understand – but because my mind has filtered away those memories to protect myself.

Every description of motherhood Olivia revealed felt literally insane to me.

Olivia: Well, I haven’t had that much time to do that because I haven’t really left Rosey with anyone else for more than an hour.
Toni: WHAT? Are you serious?? You have been with her this whole time?
Olivia: Yeah, basically. I mean, how long would you leave Munch with other people when she was 7 months?
Toni: I mean maybe an hour tops. But I hardly ever did that.

It’s like I have PTSD!! Baby Munch is my personal Vietnam! Not that she was a hard baby either. She was super chill. But the level of commitment and patience required for a baby was like nothing I ever experienced, and now that it’s over, I can’t believe I ever got through it alive.

Now that The Munch is almost 5, the freedom I have is unparalleled to what it was like when she was baby. She’s really independent and that has given me my independence. But I guess the reason why she’s so secure in the world is because of the hard time I put in when she was an infant. The breastfeeding, co-sleeping, and constant connection helped create a strong foundation between us, and now she is like a little bird that can fly away. Not too far though, she still needs me to make her sandwiches and charge the iPad.

LOOK HOW TIRED I WAS!

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One Response to My Personal Parenting PTSD

  1. Laszlo Nagy says:

    “Baby Munch is my personal Vietnam!” This makes a lot of sense to me. In a weird way, this is in a sense probably the perspective of any mother toward her children in terms of what it was like, a battle basically to get two people through certain stages. I can really see this. // If I may say, this is quite sophisticated writing and is literary. I am smelling the beginnings of stories pertaining to the varieties of mothers out there, all the many varieties that you could give voice to. Salut baby sister (as this is what you are to me, the perennial sentimentalist) but may this be the clarion call of the mutatis mutandis, if you don’t mind my speculating 😉

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