Issue # 7

both things are true

Lately, I’ve been feeling touched out. I never understood the phrase until this week. This feeling of having zero personal space because your kid wants to be in contact with you physically, all the time.

I’m overstimulated, over-touched, and tired of the constant, whiny hum of a baby who gets bored faster than I can switch activities. The clinginess, the squirming, the endless need for newness, grates on me sometimes. It’s like my nervous system can’t stretch any further, and still he’s asking for more of me.

And at the very same time...I want to hold him. I want to soothe him, love him, protect him. I want to be the reason he feels safe enough to fall asleep.

It’s such a contradiction, feeling the urge to recoil and reach at once. To feel overstimulated and deeply bonded. To want to hand him off and also never let go.

And underneath all of that, there’s this quiet realization that’s been creeping in: This is forever.

A day off is nice, but it’s not always a real break. Even when someone else steps in, the mental and emotional load doesn’t clock out.

There is no finish line. I am his parent forever.

It’s not regret. It’s not resentment. It’s just...the weight of the truth. The kind of truth that humbles you and makes you need to reach for grace over and over again. I'm reminding myself: you are allowed to feel tired of this, even if you love him with your whole heart.

And what helps me hold that truth, what helps me stay soft even when I’m fraying, is having the most incredibly supportive partner. Could I do this without him? Yes. If I had to, I would. But I don’t have to. And that feels like everything.

Sometimes I only get through the day in one piece because I know I have him to lean on. Not just for the physical handoff or the extra set of hands, but for his presence, the quiet support, the look across the room that says you’re not alone in this.

He doesn’t fix everything, and he doesn’t try to. He just shows up, consistently, lovingly, steadily. And in this season of being constantly needed, constantly touched, constantly stretched, that kind of support feels like being held too.

So if you’re feeling this too, just know:

You’re not broken for needing space. You’re not ungrateful for wanting rest. You’re not a bad parent for feeling the stretch of forever.

You’re just living it.
​

And both things are true.

also this happened

He’s started clapping.

Well, sort of. His hands don’t make any actual sound yet, but he brings them together with such conviction, like he’s trying to make a point. We think it’s his way of asking for more of something, or maybe protesting when we don’t give him what he wants. Either way, the silent claps are absolutely the cutest little act of rebellion.

It makes me laugh every time. Even when I’m tired, even when I’m overstimulated, even when I want nothing more than five quiet minutes, he claps his soft little hands together and I’m reminded, this part, the small sweet part, is here too.

I'm not tired, you're tired. :P

– Aurooba