“Every so often, I catch a glimpse of a dark thought about the baby—just a fleeting image, lasting only a fraction of a second. Sometimes I’m the one causing the harm, while other times it’s an unknown figure. My partner, Liam, reassures me that this is just a reflection of how vulnerable she is and the strange effects that can have on my mind. Yet I also recognize that I feel confined not only by her constant demands but also by the overwhelming, unconditional love I have for her. Being an older mother has its perks—I don’t panic easily. I try to limit these intrusive thoughts to two or three per day. If I exceed that, it’s time to consult the doctor for some happy pills. Shoes or no shoes.” —Inspired by Anne Enright’s Making Babies
One night, when our daughter was only six weeks old, the crying wouldn’t cease. I swaddled her, rocked her, and nursed her. I sang, danced, and even changed her diaper, even though it was dry. I switched out her clothes, convinced something was bothering her. No matter the effort, she just kept crying.
And I was utterly exhausted. I mean, SO. FREAKING. TIRED. Every hour, it seemed like she was finally settling down. I’d lie down next to her, just beginning to drift into sleep, only to be jolted awake by her piercing wail.
Then, suddenly, I felt a fracture in my mind. It was instant, like a crack in glass. And within that split second, all my maternal instincts seemed to vanish.
In that moment, I imagined throwing her out the window. I could see it so clearly—my arms swinging back, the force of launching her forward, the weight of my sweet angel slipping through my fingers. I could even hear her cries fading as she fell deeper into the night.
This fleeting thought lasted barely a second before I snapped back to reality, but it sent chills through me. What was wrong with me? Was this postpartum psychosis? Was I fundamentally flawed as a mother? Was I just not made for this role? Was it all a colossal, irreversible mistake?
I burst into tears and called my sister. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about my dark thought. I felt too ashamed. Instead, I shared how the baby wouldn’t stop crying. I tried to convey my exhaustion, hoping it would mask my feelings of inadequacy. She listened patiently before saying, “Oh, Miranda. I remember when your cousin was a baby and wouldn’t stop crying one night. My only instinct was to throw him out the window.”
I gasped, laughed, and cried all at once—a true testament to sleepless hysteria. My sister? The pillar of strength who had always been calm and nurturing? She had experienced the same alarming thought? Was this normal? Was I normal?
She reassured me it was perfectly fine to set the baby down and take a moment for myself. To breathe deeply and regain my composure. She suggested stepping outside where I wouldn’t hear the cries if I needed a break.
Her candidness and permission were lifesavers. I had consumed endless literature about nurturing and attachment, emphasizing the importance of responding to a baby’s cries. It never crossed my mind that sometimes, the best thing you can do is step away. Sometimes babies cry for reasons that remain a mystery. Unless you possess superhuman patience, the sound of relentless crying can wear anyone down.
Receiving that validation from my nurturing sister was the most precious gift I could have received. Over the years, I’ve come to realize that dark parenting thoughts can occur with startling frequency. Despite my upbringing, which lacked any form of physical punishment, I’ve found myself tempted to react in ways I never thought I would.
Kids can push your buttons—crying, whining, and complaining about the most trivial things. Their voices alone can challenge your sanity.
It’s essential to remember that a Terrible Mothering Thought is not the same as a Terrible Mothering Act. Just because you think something doesn’t mean you’ll act on it. I knew I would never actually toss my baby out the window or lash out at my spirited child. But those urges can surface, and I’ve learned to accept them without judgment.
If you’ve ever wondered if you’re alone in these types of thoughts, rest assured, you’re not. Many mothers keep such feelings to themselves, but anecdotal evidence suggests they’re quite common. Of course, if your thoughts become overwhelming or you genuinely fear you might hurt your child, it’s crucial to seek professional help. However, occasional dark thoughts are often part of the parenting journey.
While you may not feel comfortable sharing these thoughts with everyone, it can be liberating to discuss them with someone you trust. We all need reminders that we’re not alone in this chaotic adventure of motherhood.
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In summary, navigating the challenges of motherhood can sometimes lead to unsettling thoughts. It’s crucial to understand that these thoughts are often normal and that talking about them can provide comfort and reassurance.
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