Those Three Little Words

As I mentioned before, after Little Man was born, Husband and I hit the ground running. We didn't have any down time in the hospital because of the schedule in the Special Care Nursery, then driving back and forth to the hospital, then the normal wacky schedule of having a new baby in the house. For a week, we managed pretty well-- we took turns getting up with baby (every.two.hours), I made dinners and I even managed to clean the house.

Then, everything caught up with me. I developed some postpartum issues that made it impossible for me to take care of myself--let alone Little Man. It wasn't anything serious, but I will spare you the gory details and just say I was out for the count.

For about two days, Husband managed to handle everything. Then his parents came to visit. I didn't have the energy to move the day they arrived--I willingly handed over Little Man to my father-in-law and didn't blink an eye when my mother-in-law headed into the kitchen to cook and clean. For those of you that don't know me well, this is very unlike me--I'm the kind of person who spends hours cleaning to say "oh, this mess?" when complimented on my house. No one gets to play in my kitchen but me--I have a pattern, a system, and yes--OCD.

But it was a relief when my mother-in-law made me a hot dinner--when was the last time I had eaten? I didn't have the energy to cook anything real, so I had been eating a lot of teddy grahams and ramen noodles.

Little Man slept through their visit, and woke up almost immediately after they left. By that point both of us--Husband especially--had reached the end of the line. He helped me feed Little Man, then he went to bed. And I called my mother, and said those three little words that have always been the hardest for me to say.

I need help.


I am pleased to say that things are much better in our household now--after a week long stay from my mom and several trips in from my mother in law. In fact, after my in-laws left us that afternoon, my mother-in-law called my mother and let her know that I was not myself, and my "don't worry, I'm fine" phone calls weren't entirely the truth. It was a relief to let someone else take over: to cook food, clean baby bottles and--gasp--do my laundry. It gave Husband the chance to rest and gave me the chance to recover. We probably should have done that the very first week. I think it was a delightful combination of the hospital doing a poor job of emphasizing the need for help, and me just not listening when they did.

I am, and always have been, terrible at asking for help. But I realize now that I need it--it really does take a village. And now that I've had a little rest and feel better, I can enjoy Little Man more--even at 3 AM, when he wakes up and makes his hungry baby bird face. Even in a half-asleep daze, that baby bird face makes me smile.

So thank you to my mom, my in-laws, and especially my husband for realizing I needed help before I did. I promise that next time, I'll just ask.