Perfectionist Rehab

There’s this story I have on repeat,

The cyclic rumination of hours in the seat,

Trapped in a darkened room, forcing a routine,

Timed naps and feeds, keeping a baby clean.

Each hour accounted for, minutes watched,

Slight deviations were epic balls dropped.

Self-imposed torture, a titanium cage,

Psychotically tracking every stage,

Rushing through moments I should have paused,

My body remembers all the stress I caused.

“We all do our best!” the cliché recounts,

But my own judgement does on me pounce,

Because it wasn’t enough, look at what I didn’t do,

All because fear sliced me in two.

The creak of the rocker, the swoosh of the steam,

The repeated lullabies, the slathered diaper cream,

Claustrophobia cocooned me like him in his swaddle,

As I pretended to be a perfect model,

Of a competent mother, who actually tried,

Ignorant – colic was why he always cried.

“How didn’t you know he had colic?” you may ask,

I was far too absorbed in every task,

Or maybe the truth is far more poetic,

I thought he cried because I was pathetic.

I believed in my soul the reason he screamed,

Is because he knew that I was not a mother esteemed,

He didn’t deserve me, this perfect little boy,

And this was why I could never truly enjoy,

The first two years of being a mother,

I was saved once he became a big brother.

The gift of two children is that you earn perspective,

And on the times past you become reflective,

It was in the early months that I learned my first,

Suffered from colic since his birth.

Relief so sweet filled my lungs, because it wasn’t me!

Even though I met each cry desperately,

I must have failed,

That’s why he wailed.

I trusted my instincts the second time,

I was no longer trapped in that nursery of mine.

I knew my babies would not be put down,

Or else in their tears they would surely drown.

So, I wrapped up my second in his carrier,

Between him and me there was no barrier.

I let him feed on demand, I never watched the clock,

I trusted this baby would begin to squawk,

When he was hungry, so I just relaxed,

There are too many reasons why I wish I could go back,

To when my eldest was a baby,

It’s all I think of lately.

I wish I was the mom I am now,

When I traced his little brow.

My eldest was my greatest teacher,

He guided and shaped a broken creature.

Before him, I never knew that love was a birthright,

I thought it was only hard-earned from fight.

I didn’t know that someone could love,

Me for existing, just because.

How sad, and how wretched, but it’s honest too,

It took months to accept without coming unglued.

I wish I could go back and give him this edition,

But is that grief, or is it perfectionism?