The week our son was born, my father-in-law lost his best friend to cancer. We were all devastated and I knew my FIL would feel the gut-wrenching pull between sadness for the loss of his friend and joy for the birth of his first grandson. I sent him a quick message before we went into the hospital to reassure him that grief and joy are not always mutually exclusive — the two emotions can live within us at the same time. I needed him to know he didn’t have to hide his sadness while embracing our son. He didn’t have to choose one feeling or another.
Once home from the hospital, I had my own plurality of emotions. This time it was the physical pain from surgery and the elated relief of bringing home a healthy boy. It was the sleep deprivation mixed with the intoxicating smell of our newborn’s head. It was the intense anxiety around SIDs and the indescribable joy I felt seeing my husband cradle our son.
But when people asked how I was doing, how we were doing, or how I was settling into motherhood, I realize I didn’t allow myself the same grace I extended to my FIL. It felt like an insult to my son and his health to divulge any stresses and anxieties. “We’re amazing” was the most common answer I gave. And while it was a truthful answer, it wasn’t the whole truth.
I think parents owe it to themselves to embrace their plurality of emotions. I am never not grateful for a healthy and happy son but that doesn’t mean the days aren’t hard.
I still wake up in the middle of the night some nights and tearfully rummage through our twisted blankets and sheets thinking I somehow left our son to sleep in the bed with us (we have never co-slept). My husband and I still do “proof of life” checks at all hours to reassure ourselves our son is still breathing (even though we have a baby monitor where we can see him). Last week I couldn’t shake the feeling that one of our boy’s stuffed animals may have a button nose that he could chew off and choke on (there are no such buttons).
So next time someone asks how it’s going, I’m going to try to answer fully — “it’s wonderful and simultaneously harrowing.”
