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I’m sorry mama

I’m sorry mama.
I’m sorry you have to pretend like you aren’t exhausted, like you aren’t barely scraping by. I’m sorry you have to put on a fake smile. All while you are burning with anger over the injustice of even having to be there. To go unpaid, to whip out your credit card at the doctor, to be expected to recover physically and mentally from birthing a baby in three months.

I’m sorry you are expected to lactate and feed your baby. If not, be made to feel guilty when you’ve been set up to fail from the start.

That in the U.S. it’s recommended you breastfeed for 6 months but are expected to go back to work after 3 months, even if you have no issues to begin with. I’m oh so sorry if you struggle with the pain of latching or lack thereof and be forced to feel the lack or like you aren’t enough.

I’m sorry mama, that at work you must to be afraid to take lactation breaks for fear that people will think you are ‘relaxing’.

Or not doing enough but then wait…yeah you have to ‘relax’ your body to let down.. so your milk can even flow.
I’m sorry you are forced to listen to toilet flushes and be away from your precious baby whilst your hormones are raging from the exhaustion of over 3 months+ of interrupted sleep.

Yet be expected to perform, perform mama, be perfect and smiling when people tell you “to smile” when you want to punch them in the face because they have no idea how you feel.

I’m sorry you have to come home from a long day and unpack your things after dealing with brutal rush hour traffic to a screaming baby at “fussy time” because we all know 5pm is that fussy time. Try to figure out dinner or give your spouse a break and when is your break?
Oh yeah, your break is “pumping”, let’s not forget that’s the break you get. Just another thing to do for someone else after you’ve been told all day what to do.

I’m sorry mama , that you can’t complain about the unpaid maternity leave lest your name be magically added to the “lay off” list if you do.

That you are forced to stuff your still healing body into clothes and decorate your face with makeup. Then to be frightened at just how dark the dark circles under your eyes are.
I’m sorry mama, that no one asks how you are doing, really, how are you doing? It’s the baby or the to do list or the finances, or the food shopping, or the cooking or the cleaning. How are YOU?
I’m sorry mama, that you are angry and no one can soothe your anger and tell you that you aren’t alone right now, in this space, in this place. If you did voice it, who knows? CPS might be called on you, even though feeling angry over legitimate injustice at society is totally understandable.  It’s not postpartum depression mama, it’s utter exhaustion and you aren’t alone.

I’m sorry mama, you don’t have an encouraging voice to help you with this sacred transition that is your body, your life changing.

It’s a new normal that you must adjust to, all whilst battling whatever comes up and pretending to have it all together or crying out and being ignored.

I’m sorry you can’t fall apart, even temporarily mama.

I’m sorry that people say they’ll babysit or help or “like” your things on Facebook but not one shows up to be in your tribe or to actually help you with anything.. Or just gives you more work or asks you to take pictures of the baby more.

I’m sorry mama, that people act like kids are a burden and being kid free is the latest thing, yet having no idea the birth rate in the U.S. is the lowest it’s been in 30 years.

Nevermind that your “annoying” children will pay for their retirement. They will benefit from your sacrifices and in the meantime you have to suffer from all their judgment and misunderstanding.

I’m sorry you can’t tell them all to fuck off mama, because really, you should be able to.

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