We're All Terrible Moms

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January was a rough month in my new role as “mom.”

Ziggy hadn’t made much progress with overnight sleeping, he was suddenly refusing naps longer than 20 minutes, and he seemed to regress in the amount of ounces he was taking each feeding until he downright look liked he was wincing while swallowing.

And because your child’s happiness, security, and overall well-being becomes instantly all-consuming the second they exit the building that is you, I spent most of this month convincing myself I’m a bad mom.

I talked myself into believing that I was doing all the wrong things, making all the wrong decisions. That I had no problem-solving skills to offer in motherhood. That this (“this” being having a child) was a terrible idea. That my inability to do everything exactly right and “fix” my baby was precisely why I was so hesitant about being a mom in the first place.

“I’m not cut out for this,” I texted friends and family.

“I suck at this!!!” I shouted to Zac while storming out of the room mid-tantrum.

If he had a good feeding session with anyone else, I felt validated. “See? It’s me.”

If he smiled more at my mom or husband than he did me, I felt validated (and so, so hurt). “SEE? It’s me.”

As mothers, we feel we should know our kid best even when they can’t talk or tell us what’s wrong. We feel it should be innate, built into us. That we should just know. And while I did know something wasn’t right, I beat myself up for not knowing exactly what it was so I could fix it immediately.

If you follow me on Instagram, you probably saw the screen of text I posted sharing some insight as to what’s been going on the last several weeks with Zig. We had started him on formula to get him used to it so I could wean off breastfeeding at three months, and the formula we chose was recommended by our pediatrician. She instructed us to give any formula at least two weeks to see how a baby’s system reacts to it, so that’s what we did and what a terrible two weeks it was.

Now, I’m not saying that Ziggy’s extra fussiness and inability to sleep well or eat well was all because of the formula. It just so happens he was going through a developmental leap the last few weeks, and when that’s happening, babies get extra fussy because their brains are changing so fast. It’s coincidental that right when we introduced this formula he — unbeknownst to us — was gearing up to show us a new skill, i.e. rolling! So these two circumstances combined did a real doozy on his system.

He was constipated, in visible discomfort while trying to enjoy his bottles, and there were a few days where we literally could not set him down or he would scream-cry. Now, he’s been kinda fussy with eating since his first day of life, so him having trouble adjusting to this formula wasn’t a red flag to me… yet.

But it got to the point where I literally dreaded feeding him. The anxiety over whether or not he’d actually drink the bottle or start crying hysterically halfway through had me white-knuckling every feed (like literally holding the bottle so hard, my hand hurt). One afternoon, I actually cried with him because I was just so frustrated. Just mama and son sitting there on the couch in broad daylight, both wailing because he doesn’t want to eat and he can’t tell me why and it’s breaking my spirit.

Taking naps on his stomach seemed to help but only a little bit.

Using the Frida Baby Windi gas releasers seemed to help but only a little bit.

What made it more confusing is that he’d have a good day and chug an entire bottle, and I would think “OMG! We did it! He’s officially used to this formula and we’re good now,” only for him to become hysterical during the very next feeding.

We thought it was silent reflux since he was showing visible discomfort while drinking, so we brought him to the doctor, she agreed with us, and sent us home with liquid Pepcid. Things got a little better for about a week, but by this past weekend, we had regressed and I was losing my damn mind.

Because I just wanted my baby to eat. To ENJOY eating. To look forward to meal time and eat enough to feel comfortably full and take a delicious nap. But none of that was happening.

So on Monday, we went back to the doctor who quickly called out it was the goat-milk based formula (that’s supposed to be easy on the system and is the closest to breast milk and that she suggested!!! But whatever. Not dwelling on that) and suggested we get on what I now know to be the mother of all formulas, Nutramigen. It’s hypoallergenic, smells like rancid, rotting shit, and has literally changed my baby for the better in a matter of 24 hours.

I write all this because any mom reading this will know the exact kind of panic I was feeling. The helplessness. The all-consuming frustration with not being able to figure out how to make your baby his best self. And I know that’s motherhood — really, I do. A big fucking science experiment. A never-ending loop of trial and error. But those errors make me feel like the worst mom. A terrible mom. A mom who shouldn’t even be a mom. And what’s ironic is that all those feelings make me the best mom for Ziggy.

There’s a saying that goes something like precisely because you think you’re not a good mom is why you’re an amazing mom, because a bad mom is one that truly doesn’t care or worry about it either way.

So I guess the last few weeks literally consuming my every waking hour makes me the most incredible mom ever?

I’m hopeful this formula will continue to please my son, fill him up, help him grow, and stay consistent and I have good reason to believe it will (Nutramigen has been around for-eh-ver, and I can’t tell you the amount of DMs I got from other moms saying it was a miracle for them, including my aunt who used it over 40 years ago!). I pray we’re on the up and up. I still hate myself for even trying the other formula and for giving it to him for almost two weeks. I still feel like the world’s worst new mom for that, and I probably will for a while longer. But I’m trying to let the fact that I got him back to the doctor so quickly outweigh the self-hate and be replaced with self-appreciation instead, because I know this is just the beginning of “fucking up” as a mom, and I need to start thickening my skin against myself now.

Earlier this week, I sent out a free letter asking free subscribers what free content they might like to see. Someone suggested something along the lines of listing out what helped me get through that particular week, and I loved that spin on my typical Weekly Digress. Each week’s Survival Kit will feature a grab bag of whatever the fuck got me from Monday to Friday, whether it’s food, drink, activity, a song, a reel — whatever. So here is this week’s Survival Kit.

Zevia soda

I’m not big on sodas. I never really have been. I love an occasional Diet Dr Pepper, and a regular Coke hits the spot like once or twice a year, but otherwise, I don’t dabble much. But… Zac got a case of this Zevia stuff in the Root Beer and Cream Soda flavors and OMG? I don’t know how they do it, but it tastes like the real stuff (there’s a tiny bit of ‘oh this isn’t the real stuff’ at the end of each sip but not enough to deter me). I’m sure it’s terrible for you and, years from now, scientists will discover it causes cancer or some shit, but it’s really great when you want a soda but don’t want to drink a can of sugar.

The YMCA

There’s a Y exactly 10 minutes from us, and I had the bright idea to tour it last week and signed up on the spot. It’s clean, it’s naturally lit with big ass windows, it’s residential so the clientele is more my speed and age, and they have childcare so you can drop your nugget off for a quick hour to get a workout in! I went for the first time on Monday and loved it. I haven’t been in the gym since last February and am very excited to get back into some sort of routine. I was a little apprehensive that they, a Young Men’s Christian Association, wouldn’t let me, an Old Jewish Woman, in but they didn’t even flinch. And they say we haven’t progressed… psh.

Nutramigen

It’s so fucking expensive, but you can’t put a price on your baby actually eating and not hating his life.

My Kindle

It took me so long to get on the electronic book boat, and now I can’t get off. Being able to read at night in bed without a silly little book light is life-changing. If I don’t read myself to sleep, I don’t fall asleep so this thing is a godsend. Truly. Currently reading: Here One Moment by Liane Moriarty.

Amazon leggings

Generally I stay away from Amazon clothing because it’s all so cheap and probably full of chemicals that are chipping away at my life. However, I was ready to get back in the gym but none of my old leggings fit my PP body, so I treated myself to these leggings and LOVE THEM. I feel they run big — in any other pant right now, I’d take a large but there was SO much extra material on the large so I sent them back and got the medium which fits perfectly. My point: size down one.

Cabo Créme

It’s an old wives tale to put cold cabbage leaves on your titties when you’re trying to stop milk production/breastfeeding. The cold felt great and I think maybe the method worked a little on me, but I quickly realized this week that cabbage on its own has nothing on my 34H engorged pregnancy boobs. I got so many DMs imploring me to get Cabo Créme, so I did and it’s as amazing as everyone says. IDK what voodoo magic is in this cream, but if you’re weaning at any time in your life, you need it.

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And now for some recent Ziggy pictures for paid subscribers.