I was bubbling with excitement to leave the hospital the day after my daughter, Clara, was born. It was my first experience in that esteemed institution, and all I could think about was escaping the constant interruptions from nurses checking my blood pressure and monitoring my healing. I just wanted to be home. As my partner, Mark, and his family cooed over our peacefully sleeping baby, I hurriedly packed our things because it was time to go.
We arrived home in the late afternoon, and everything seemed perfect. Clara was peacefully snoozing in her Pack and Play, while Mark and I exchanged glances that clearly said, “Okay… what now?” This should be easy, right?
Honestly, the details of that first night are a blur—does any new mom truly remember it? However, one vivid memory stands out, and it’s filled with raw emotion. I found myself on the couch, both Clara and I in tears, as I repeated, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Please, someone take her back.”
I loved her fiercely. I was ecstatic that she was in the world instead of the safety of my womb. But fear gripped me. I was petrified. I couldn’t even articulate what “this” was, but I felt utterly incapable.
The truth was, I had never cared for a newborn before. I didn’t have a clue what I was doing or what I was supposed to do. There was no user manual. It felt like having driven around in a car for ten months, then being handed the keys to one and being told to take it home without ever having driven before. No one would ever put someone in that situation. It would be dangerously irresponsible.
I felt the same way about being allowed to bring Clara home. There hadn’t been any preparatory lessons or a practice baby to care for before I was given my own. It was just a combination of a failed birth control method, a decision made with Mark, and a leap of faith that we could figure this out as we went along. And now, I was expected to raise this tiny human? What on earth were they thinking?
That first night, I felt lost, scared, and utterly directionless. I was certain that I was incapable of handling motherhood. I longed for someone else to take over—someone knowledgeable who could do it better.
But I made it through that first night. And the one after that. Now, Clara is nearly two and a half years old, and that same doubt still follows me around like an annoying little dog, ready to nip at my heels with every misstep. Motherhood has proven to be the most challenging journey of my life—more than I could have ever anticipated. There are still days when I find myself thinking, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this.” However, I no longer think, “Please take her back,” as I did on that first night.
Clara is my daughter, my firstborn, my spirited little girl with sparkling blue eyes. She brings me so much joy, and she is mine. I may still feel uncertain and shaky as I navigate this path of motherhood. But at the end of each day, when I tuck her into her big girl bed, tell her I love her, and hear her sweet response of, “I love you, Mom,” it reassures me that no one else can nurture her better than I can.
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Summary
The transition home with a newborn can be overwhelming. A mother shares her emotional experience on the first night with her baby, expressing fears and uncertainties but ultimately finding joy in motherhood. As she navigates the challenges, she learns that her love and commitment make her the best person to care for her child.