Jealousy

Yes, I know. It's been a while since I have written a blog entry. Things have been very busy in Jenn-land. I got back from vacation in time for a business trip that took me out of town for just about a week and then got home to a husband-free house as Josh joined his family in California for his cousin's wedding. It's left me little time to write.

Also, I found myself struggling with my motivation. Coming up with content week after week is more daunting that I originally thought. What I never thought would happen is that I would be discouraged by decreased readership. While I will not pretend that my blog was read by hundreds per week, it was interesting to see a steady 60-person population was reading each week. When facebook changed its Newsfeed format, fewer people were being notified that I was posting new blog entries and I saw a 60% decline in readership. Eh - it is what it is... and I am reminded of "why I started this blog in the first place" - it was never about who read it but about my opportunity to do it.

So what is my title ("Jealousy") all about?

There has been an increase in the number of friends who have joined the party of mommy-dom recently. At my job alone, we have had 4 pregnancies in the last few months - 2 babies have already been born and 2 are expected in the next 30 days. Among my facebook friends, it seems that a baby is born each month - 6 that I can think of off the top of my head, in fact; another 4 are expecting in the next few months.

I love reading my friend's updates with the news that they are now expecting or that they have recently added to their family. It's so amazing and I feel like I have 2 years on the "welcome to the mommyhood" circle.

But the thing I can't seem to shake is the jealousy I feel when people post about their new, tiny, little ones. But the reason why I am jealous is not for the reasons that you might expect. You might expect that I would be jealous because I want another one - that's not the case.

While I don't believe that adding a second is out of the realm of possibility in the next couple of years (we are having too much fun with one to complicate it with two), I am actually jealous of the mom's who post how much they love their tiny little beans. They are over the moon with love, adoration, and pride. They are enamoured with their every facial expression and being close to them.

As a mother who survived post-partum depression, my experience with Olivia was so different. I didn't love her. I didn't feel connected to her. She was an (asked for) imposition in my life. I believed her to be inconsolable, only to have my husband or my mother soothe her almost immediately and my feelings of inadequacy were so great that I was wracked with guilt and hatred for myself that I wasn't able to soothe my own child. I chalked it up to my fierce independence and said "that's not the kind of mother I ever thought I would be anyway!" (which was true). I was not the mother to engage a kid at all times. I believed that parents were too "hands on" with their children and created dependant infants and children. Olivia's lack of daytime naps only escalated the problem. I never wanted to be the parent to get down on the floor and play, laugh, rock, etc. with my little one.

I have written about post-partum in a previous blog entry - and those of you read my blog regularly know that my position on parenthood has changed dramatically. I love every moment with Olivia (even the ones in which I lose my patience). I love engaging with her and often find myself coming up with family-friendly trip ideas just so I can watch her explore and engage with her surroundings. I LOVE to make her laugh. I LOVE hearing her laugh (it's pretty rediculous). I love teaching her things and I am overwhelmed with pride when she figures something out or repeats a word for the first time.

But I can't seem to let go over the first few months we had together and how I wish I could go back and enjoy all her little imperfections, nuances, and her development. I never called her "my angel". I never told her "I love you" and ever meant it. I never hugged her just because I loved her (as opposed to hugging her to make her feel better). I never looked at her and cried because of her beauty or watched her sleep.

I am so jealous of those who have had the opportunity to enjoy their children when they are most innocent and perfect. I so happy for each mother that feels that why for their children, but I can't help by feel an incredible amount of remorse and sadness for my own shortcomings.

Next time, should their be a next time, I will know what to look for - and I will know intellectually, that there is so much more that can be experienced at that tender age.

I just wish I got that time with the amazing little girl I have - because if there is no "next time", what a chapter I missed out on.