Somehow in my exhausted haze, it felt like I was the only Mom that had ever gone through that and my child was the only one that never wanted to sleep and I was the only person who had ever been this tired.
I wasn't, but it felt like that.
Then she started sleeping and crying a little less and I could tell other new Mom's that it would get better and that we all have to fight that bear for a little while.
Then she hit ten months old and oh my gosh everything was a tantrum. She wanted to feed herself but couldn't and would lose her mind. She wanted to walk but couldn't and would lose her mind. Daily I thought "I'm never going to survive this", but then I did. And it got better.
Around eighteen months we hit another spell where she wanted to communicate so much more than she could and she would end up so frustrated at my lack of understanding that most of the time, we both ended up in tears. She fell down a lot and fell off of couches and stairs and was constantly in a bruised up crying state and I thought "we're never going to survive this". But we did. And it got better.
Now my days are usually filled with the "questions". The "what's that Mommy?", "what's this?" and my personal fave, "what's this song?" to every song that comes on the radio and at least ten times during said song. As I answer her question for the fifth time, I can usually feel my frustration rising and can feel a shout of exasperation on my lips. It's for sure trying and sometimes I feel myself wishing we could just fast forward through this stage.
But then I stop and think; all those other stages? they are blurs already. Those times flew by so fast that I actually have to stop and really think to bring them back. Sure I remember the newborn days, but now I remember a little less crying and a little more baby snuggles and that sweet, sweet smell.
I remember the frustrations of that ten month old, but more so I remember her figuring out how to crawl and her giggles at the discovery. I remember how at nine months I felt like "this is the best stage ever" because she was so loving and sweet and loved to give kisses.
At eighteen months, she really started becoming my little sidekick. So while there were tons of tantrums, we always understood each other when it came to a good dance party, or a fun trip to the library, or a walk around the park. There was no trouble communicating that those were fun.
Someday, I'm sure in the not too distant future, my first memory of this stage isn't going to be the trying questions. It's going to be how she loves to jump, off of anything and everything. How she likes to watch tv curled into my side. How she squeals when "Call Me Maybe" comes on. How she dances so hard in the backseat when she likes a song.
These are good days. No matter how trying, they are really, really good. And all too soon, they'll be gone and we'll be navigating a new stage with new difficulties. But I'm ready. Because you get the the good days with difficulties. And I'm a big fan of the good days.