The Comparison Game

How many times have I said how much I hate it when I feel compelled to compare myself to others? If it's not “I'm not as thin as she is and she just had a baby yesterday.” then it's “Wow, she sewed all her daughter's outfits for the week, made five casseroles for the freezer and redecorated her living room all in one day! Why am I so lazy?” We all do it. But why? And how do we make it stop?

At church on Sunday I was so happy to see that my friend was there with her new baby. I had been wondering about her since I knew she was getting close. She was nervous because this was her second child and her first had been born cesarean section. She had given birth on Tuesday. So there she was at church on Sunday. Looking great, glowing, new baby sleeping like an angel in his carrier seat. I told her how great she looked. I asked her if she was really doing as well as it appeared. She told me she thought she was. I gulped and smiled. “That's so great!” I meant it. But as Peter and I took Audrey to the baby room I felt like crying.

I fell into the comparison rut. I hadn't made it to church the following Sunday. I was still in the hospital. I was still crying my eyes out at that point. I was feeling like I'd made a horrible mistake. I didn't think I could do it. All of my feelings of inadequacy came flooding back. Other people were capable of having babies and carrying on as though life had barely changed. What had been wrong with me? I told my husband how I was feeling. He tried to comfort me, reminding me that things had been different for us. And they were. "Baby A was sick." I said out loud. It was different. I agreed. But inside, I still felt horrible.

I hate doing that to myself. Making comparisons and feeling like a loser. I should be happy if someone is able to have a baby without going through what I did. I am happy actually. I really am. That's one reason why I started writing this blog. I hope that anyone who reads about the things I experience as a mother may find comfort in knowing that they are not alone or are more prepared for what can happen and deal with it better than I do.

I sometimes wonder if I'm accomplishing that goal. I was visiting with a friend this weekend and she mentioned to me that she had been reading my blog. She told me how she didn't know how I had time to write and do all of the things that I write about AND take care of Audrey. She told me she found it difficult to find time for anything other than taking care of her daughter. I worried and felt guilty that I was making her feel bad. Then, I felt bad because I thought maybe I was neglecting Audrey while I was doing all this other crap. Ridiculous. Really. Sometimes I wonder why I bother getting up in the morning.

I have begun to realize why I still have so much pain about my first months as a mother. I can't seem to accept that it was the circumstances that made it difficult. I still believe that it was my fault and if it had been anyone else they would have handled it better. That I wasn't strong enough. And that's what kills me. I feel like I'm coping out to talk about the fact that Little A was sick and wasn't eating. Making excuses for my inability to get it together. I keep thinking 'Next time it's going to be different!'. But part of me worries that if it happens again I will lose all self respect.

My brain is so annoying the way it can take a happy occasion for someone else and turn it into Worry and Pity- Fest '06 for me. I know I let it happen. I try to say, “Stop it brain!” but it won't listen to me! Stupid brain. To cheer myself up and make all of you smile, here's a little picture for our viewing pleasure.