After several more weeks of feeling nervous apprehension and excitement, my baby girl finally made her debut, providing me with a birthing experience unlike anything I had been taught to expect. Thankfully, I had much needed support in the form of a doula and my mother and husband who coached and guided me every step of the way.

However, the full effect came piling on long after those tumultuous and painful hours of labor, long after the doctor gave me a hearty mazel tov and placed my beautiful baby on my chest, long after I stared down at her in utter shock, awe, and amazement.

After the bright pink balloons had deflated and all the visitors had gone home, and any help I had received in my home was long forgotten, that was when I found myself in the most need of support.

When my husband had gone back to work, and I was alone in my apartment with this precious newborn who was completely dependent on me for every basic need, while I was still recovering from birth, that’s when I became overwhelmed with every sort of emotion and thought, not knowing if any of it was normal.

Is it supposed to be painful and difficult to nurse? What do my baby’s cries mean? How often should I feed her? How long should I try to burp her? How do I drag myself out of bed for the 15th time at night to tend to her when I have zero energy? And what about my painfully swollen legs and feet? And my sciatica, which sends a shooting pain down my leg every time I bend down to pick up this helpless being? Never mind the constant physical pain of basic recovery from childbirth.

When I found myself sitting on my couch three weeks post birth and sobbing for the third time that week, I was at a loss. Yes, I received phone support several times a day from my mother, and I texted my sister for advice all the time, but it wasn’t enough. I felt completely helpless. I was afraid I wasn’t taking care of my baby properly, constantly second-guessing if she ate enough, if she needed to burp, why she wasn’t sleeping.

Maybe I have postpartum depression? It wasn’t the first time that thought had crossed my mind since coming home from the hospital and after receiving a number of visitors.

“You must kiss her up the whole day!” my friend had exclaimed after seeing my baby for the first time. Actually, I’m just trying to keep her alive by feeding her and changing her diapers… was what I had wanted to answer.

Amid the constant cloud of exhaustion that had now become a part of my life, while lying awake when my baby was napping, I tried to force every confused thought out of my head, but like an overstuffed closet, the door wouldn’t close for all the clutter and jumbled, messy thoughts spilling out all around me. Maybe I’m just not a good mother… maybe I don’t know what I’m doing, despite all the babysitting and working in playgroups I’ve done over the years?

It’s laughable that I thought that after having worked and played with children from nine to five, and after having changed hundreds of diapers, I’d be well-prepared for having one of my own. But there were no lunch breaks, no going home to a quiet house at the end of the day, no recharging my batteries so I would have energy for the next day of work. Motherhood was and will forever be my life, with G-d’s help, and this was a major adjustment, to put it mildly.

After a few months, I can only now say that I’m starting to get a handle on motherhood, at least until the next stage of my daughter’s life, when again, I won’t know what to expect or what I’m doing. As I sit down to write this, with my baby gurgling away happily in her bouncer on the floor next to me, I can’t help but think how much knowledge I’ve acquired over the past few months, since our very first moments together.

I remember in vivid detail the hectic and stressful day I brought my baby home from the hospital. From not being able to figure out how to adjust the straps in the car seat, to needing to pull into the parking lot of a deserted building on the way home to nurse her, to unpacking everything from the hospital and assembling the baby furniture as quickly as possible… I begin to sweat all over again just thinking about it.

All the advice and comfort in the world cannot help when, as a new mother, you are lost, frustrated, and an emotional wreck. Some preemptive, in-depth education on the difficulties that are likely to arise after birth would have been not only helpful, but a sanity saver. To know that no, you are not crazy, you are not depressed, nor are you a bad mother. You are just going through what many new mothers go through. It is difficult, frustrating, and tiring, yet it is all okay and normal.

As I stand each night, rocking my baby back and forth, counting down the seconds until her eyes will close ever so slowly and I can finally lay her in her crib and go to bed myself, I know that my experience wasn’t unique or abnormal — it’s simply called being a mother.

(Originally featured in Family First, Issue 735)