First of all, sleep deprivation is torture. On a chronic level it's unpleasant, discombobulating and unhealthy. On an acute level, it's hell, and I've discovered that nothing robs me of my sense of inner stability and competence more quickly than sleep deprivation. Being alone (especially in snowstorms!) for long hours with a tiny, helpless baby who depends on me for absolutely everything when I feel so staggeringly depleted that I can't even take care of myself? Terrifying.
Second of all, nursing a baby is hard work. I actually like nursing, and Silas has had absolutely no trouble - which is to say, I have it easy - but it's physically demanding in a number of ways to be the sole source of nutrition and hydration for another person. I am thirsty ALL THE TIME, and it seems like I'm never able to drink enough water. I now bring TWO water bottles to bed with me. My appetite hasn't increased much, but as I've recently re-discovered, lack of appetite seems to be one of the most pronounced symptoms of sleep deprivation for me. But the physical demands are only a small part of what makes nursing hard. It's a real challenge to *know* that I can't be away from Silas for more than 3 hours or so without upsetting him terribly. (Actually, this is no longer entirely true since I have 2 days worth of milk in the freezer, but it's for emergencies! And obviously, if we're not at home and we don't have a bottle, there's only one choice.) I feel like I'm on a bit of a tether at all times, and it's hard sometimes to relax when I know I only have a short window of time before I am needed once again. It's hard to recover from a really tough experience in 90-minute bursts!
Third, we live in a culture where having a husband enthusiastically acting as an equal parent is such a luxury for me as a mother that asking for MORE help (not that Brian taking care of his son is "helping" so much as "parenting") can feel like an extremely selfish act. Remember the village that it takes to raise a child? It's not always easy to find (especially if, like us, you are among the first of your peers to become parents), and if you are fortunate enough to have some sort of a village, you can feel like a real jerk for imposing on said village and not just suffering alone like everybody else.
Here's the thing. I don't want to spend Silas' infancy constantly making the mental calculation about how far I can go alone before I really, really need to ask for help. It's not enjoyable, and I'm really trying to ditch the mindset that somehow awards me brownie points for suffering as long as possible without calling in backup. It doesn't really make sense that I (or Brian, or anybody else) should push ourselves to the brink, keeping ourselves perpetually in crisis mode. It would be much better to ask for help before we're desperate - but we need to learn how to let ourselves do that.
I want to enjoy Silas' infancy, and I have enjoyed a good deal of it, when moderately well rested, and especially, rested enough to remain connected with others who can appreciate Silas as he grows and changes so quickly. When I get too exhausted, my activities are reduced to keeping Silas held close and cared for, and myself alive. TIme to talk to friends and family becomes a luxury. Bathing, eating nice food and cleaning become luxuries. Cuddling with my cats becomes a luxury. Going outside becomes a luxury. And there's no time for luxuries. Yes, I can keep Silas held close and cared for, and I can keep myself alive, and sometimes I'm overwhelmed by the strength of the message that tells me that's all I can expect, and that I shouldn't ask for more.
But I did. I told my friends I needed encouragement, and they encouraged me. My parents came to visit for a day. Brian took a sick day. And now Brian has given Silas a bottle of pumped milk during the night a few times so I can have a longer chunk of sleep on the guest cot in the study. (SIX HOURS!!!) I feel much better, and best of all, when I look at Silas this morning, my view of my sweet baby is no longer dulled and dimmed by exhaustion so much that I can't enjoy him. And to be connected again, to feel like I have the energy to love my baby, is enough to convince me that I can't be too proud to ask for help, even if I'm still keeping myself alive on my own.
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