The truth about motherhood: It really doesn’t matter.

Breastfeed your baby to sleep so they are comforted. Don’t breastfeed to sleep or else they will be dependent. Breastfeed for the minimum of a year. Formula is just as good as breastfeeding. Hold them as much as possible as infants. Don’t hold them too much or else they won’t want to be put down. Help your child so they feel supported, but not too much or else they won’t learned independence. No screen time is good for kids. Unless its Facetime or teaching shows. Stimulate your baby with new experiences. Too much stimulation may make your baby cry more. Let your toddler eat whatever they will eat so they get enough calories. Don’t feed your toddler whatever they want or else they will be picky eaters. Expose your child to many new experiences. Don’t overwhelm your child with too many people and places. Your baby doesn’t need to go to the doctor for every little sniffle. A little sniffle can turn into a double ear infection, or need nebulizer treatment, both of which you won’t know they have because you aren’t a doctor.

Instructions, books, suggestions, advice, guidelines, rules…the list goes on and on. How is a new mom ever supposed to wade through all of the bombarding differences in opinions? For every question I asked, I got three very different answers. Sometimes I Googled, sometimes I asked the doctor, sometimes I asked mom friends, and sometimes strangers or people without kids would give me unsolicited advice. Sometimes ideas worked, and sometimes it made the situation worse.

So seriously, what is a mama supposed to do?

Here’s what I learned in 19 months of being a mother. It doesn’t matter. Okay [for the most part] it doesn’t matter. Of course there are the safety rules you should follow—car seats, rear facing, no bumpers, back is best—but then the rest? Really. Doesn’t. Matter.

It’s not that motherhood doesn’t matter. No, not at all. It has been the most soul-completing, love-gushing, ooey-gooey (sometimes from poopy) experience of my life. I found a new and improved version of me in motherhood, and it has given me a different purpose in my life.

When I say that “It doesn’t matter” I mean that your kid will turn out all right. A-okay. Just dandy.

When my baby was small, I was obsessed with clean floors and not letting him eat a single thing that touched the ground. What happens now as a toddler? He dumps his crackers on the floor and eats it faster than I can get to him. He also likes to try dirt if I’m not fast enough. You want to know the difference between my breastfed baby and his formula fed friend? Zip. They both play with the same toys and are walking and starting to talk, and do dumb and weird toddler stuff like lick windows. Some babies cry it out, some don’t. Some sleep. Some don’t. Some are advanced in walking or potty training, and other aren’t.

What matters is that you try your very best to do right by your baby, while also preserving your sanity. You are no good to anyone if you are on the verge of a meltdown. Your child needs you at your very best, so do your best for yourself and for them, and you will do just fine. Give them love. Give them kisses. Involve them in your day to day tasks. Ask what they think, then nod and agree vehemently even though you have no clue what they just said. Shower them with affection, then let them play on their own a little while you check Instagram.

Here’s the real truth. None of us have any idea what we are doing. It’s like trying to fold a damn fitted sheet over and over every day, but it never turns out straight, but it’s good enough because it’s the best we can do. Parenting is a lot like that. We do our best, and kids turn out just fine. So yeah, my kid might only want to eat blueberries for dinner sometimes. He might throw a tantrum when I won’t let him play with the toilet. But at the end of the day when we look at each other with pure obsessive adoration, I wouldn’t have him be any other way.

It happened this morning: The three little words I never thought I’d say as a mother

So, I don’t usually start my posts with an introduction, but I feel like this one needs it. This is a post that I’ve been sitting on for more than a year, because I’ve felt too ashamed to write it. Reading the post again makes me feel like the ultimate failure as a mother. It is raw, honest, and painful. Today I am deciding to share it because I am in such a different place mentally and emotionally, and I’m hoping that looking back at that devastating moment with a newborn might help another mother feel like she’s not alone. Maybe she will feel like there’s hope for tomorrow. Maybe it will get her through another day, and then another. Because the truth is it does get easier. The newborn phase has been the hardest experience I’ve ever had to endure, compounded by my postpartum depression and anxiety. So, without further delay, here is my most shameful moment yet….

It happened this morning: The three little words I never thought I’d say as a mother

It happened this morning. I said those three words I never fathomed that I, or any other mother, would ever say about their offspring. “I hate him.”

I was standing at the side of the bed, having just pulled myself out of it, rolling him off my arm where I had been trying to get him to go back to sleep. My husband groggily looked up at me from his side of the bed. “Want me to take him?” “No” I dutifully replied. I immediately changed my mind. “Yes,” I had said, “I need a minute.”

As I left the room I could feel hot tears threatening to cross my lid brim into reality. He’d been up most of the night since 6:30 the evening before. He woke every 30-90 minutes. Sometimes he was starving, sometimes he was just seeking out comfort. Maybe typical for a newborn, but not for a 5-month-old.

I went downstairs into another room and flopped down on the guest bed like a ragdoll. I guardedly let the tears fall, not allowing myself to succumb to an actual crying fit. My husband woke me what felt like a minute later, informing me that he had to get ready for work; I hadn’t realized I fell asleep.

I was stuck again with the sleepless monster. A monster that on any other day had the ability to make my heart melt with this toothless grin. On any other day his crying sound of “maaaa maaaaa” made me a love-gooey puddle. But not today. Today in the still twilight I hated my son.

Stuffing away the feelings I strapped him into his high chair to continue our usual routine. I ate my cereal. We started at each other in silence. He looked as tired as I felt. I knew we were at our breaking point. We wouldn’t be ourselves today.

I called his doctor’s office, hope dangling by a thread that she could help me. “What is the appointment for?” the receptionist asked. My answer gushed out in hasty breath, and ended with “We really need some help.” My voice sounded broken, even to me.

After an unusually short and ungratifying nap for both of us, I relegated him to his prop-up chair and turned on cartoons. After moments of indecision, I settled on a shower. It didn’t help. After pulling out clothes that would fit my post-partum body from the laundry pile that never seemed to make it back to the dresser drawers, I was rewarded for my personal time with crying.

I returned to see tears streaming down his face. I didn’t feel anger anymore; I didn’t feel anything. Maybe this was what giving up feels like. I decide to strap on the elaborate baby carrier, clicking buckles and tightening straps that pull my son closer and tighter against me—a last ditch effort of peace and an attempt to finally feed myself.

We stare at each other without exchanging a sound. I wonder what he’s thinking. I wonder if he wonders the same thing. He finally gives up, puts his head down on my chest, and falls asleep. I feel relief pour over me like the hot water of my shower had in what seems like an eternity ago. Where do we go from here?

I pray that the words I had spoken in the early hours were out of frustration, and not my heart. I pray that my son never knows how I felt towards him at that moment, fearing an eternal scar upon his tiny mind.

Where do we go from here? I continue on my path of motherhood, holding his small hand along the way. Perhaps tomorrow will bring me that toothless grin I so cherish, bringing us back in sync within the most sacred bond of nature between mother and child. I’ll hold on until then.