By: Mia Thompson
Published: December 19, 2015 (Originally on November 14, 2012)
The excitement was overwhelming as I prepared to leave the hospital just a day after my daughter, Emma, was born. This was my first experience in such a place, and all I could think about was escaping the constant interruptions from nurses checking my vitals and the relentless squeezing of the blood pressure cuff. I longed for the comfort of home. While Jake and his family admired my peacefully sleeping, swaddled baby, I hurriedly packed up our things—it was time to go.
We returned home in the late afternoon, and everything seemed fine. Emma was peacefully napping in the Pack and Play set up in our room, and Jake and I exchanged looks that seemed to say, “What now?” Surely, this would be straightforward, right?
The details of that first night are a blur—do any new moms truly remember much? However, what I do recall is heart-wrenching. I remember sitting on the couch, both Emma and I in tears, repeatedly whispering, “I can’t manage this. I can’t manage this. I need help.”
I adored her. I was grateful she was in my arms instead of the confines of my body. But fear consumed me. I felt utterly unprepared, unsure of what “it” even meant, yet I was convinced that I couldn’t handle it.
Here’s the truth: I had never cared for a newborn before. I was entirely clueless about what to do. It felt akin to having ridden in a car for ten months, then being handed the keys to your own vehicle, with someone saying, “Drive it home.” No sane person would do that; it would be wildly unsafe.
Bringing Emma home felt just as risky. There was no manual I’d studied beforehand. No practice baby to care for before I was entrusted with my own. My birth control had failed, Jake and I decided to trust that we could handle parenting, and then I delivered my baby into the hands of my doctor. That was it.
And now, I was responsible for raising this tiny human? What were you thinking, world?
That first night, I felt terrified, isolated, and utterly lost—a ship adrift without a compass. I was convinced I couldn’t succeed as a mother. Someone else needed to take her away. Someone experienced. Someone who could do it better.
Miraculously, I made it through that first night. And the next. Now Emma is almost two and a half years old. That same fear of inadequacy still lingers, like a mischievous little dog chasing my heels with every mistake I make. Motherhood has proven to be the most challenging endeavor of my life. There are still days when I think, “I can’t do this,” but I never again think, “Someone else has to take her away,” as I did that first night.
She is my daughter. My first child. My spirited, blue-eyed little girl. She brings me joy. And she is mine.
Though I continue to feel uncertain and wobbly on this parenting path, each night as I tuck her into her big girl bed, tell her I love her, and hear her sweet reply, “I love you, Mom,” it reassures me that no one else could raise her quite like I can.
For more on navigating parenthood, check out this excellent resource on pregnancy. Also, if you’re interested in home insemination options, visit Cryobaby for more information.
In summary, the first night with a newborn is often filled with overwhelming emotions, uncertainty, and a longing for reassurance. Each mom’s journey is unique, but the love for that little one is universal.
Keyphrase: First night home with a newborn
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