On new motherhood and the chaos that comes with it
Things felt impossible from the moment I brought the baby home in January.
For more than two weeks, my mom kept us afloat with laundry and dishes while Jerry and I stumbled along, just trying to survive. My life was reduced to feeding the baby, collapsing, and feeding him again.
The newborn fog has lifted, but in its place is something I call the juggle struggle. Since going back to work in April, it’s been one long balancing act: too many responsibilities, not enough hands. It’s like juggling with a dozen objects you never asked to catch in the first place — socks, coupons, baby bottles, deadlines. Some stay in the air, some crash, and you just hope nothing too important shatters.
At any given time, there are a million things waiting. Right now, my Shutterfly book has been half-done for a week. The coupons and ads I meant to sort on Sunday are still sitting there. My DVR is about to burst. A bin of books has been begging for attention from the living room floor since Saturday. My blog is gathering dust. I haven’t been to the gym in forever (once upon a time, six days a week). And the laundry? Let’s just say Jerry is running out of socks.
The to-do list never ends. If anything, it grows. I can’t keep everything in the air. Something’s always going to hit the ground.
By the end of most nights, I’m so wiped I just crash instead of reading or writing. Other nights, I stay up way too late, trying to claw back time for myself, only to be wrecked the next morning. It’s a cycle that feeds itself: exhaustion, guilt, repeat.
Motherhood isn’t graceful. It’s a mess of missed sleep, endless lists, and small victories no one claps for. A chaotic, anxious, beautiful mess — but a mess all the same.
Still, when I look at him — at the little boy at the center of all this chaos — I know it’s worth dropping everything else. The laundry can wait. The coupons can sit. What matters most is right here in my arms, and he makes the mess feel like home.
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