I found becoming the mother of a newborn terrifying.

I was completely responsible for this helpless mite.  What if I screwed up?  What if I forgot to do something crucial? How could I possibly think of myself when this little one needed (and demanded) everything from me?

I went into hyper-caretaking mode. Every moment (and there were a lot of them, since I wasn’t getting any sleep), every thought, every impulse, was directed at her. 

When I wasn’t feeding her, I made charts. How long she slept. How long she nursed.  I woke her up to make sure she was getting enough to eat. I called my sister and sister-in-law, begging for their advice.  I devoured the La Leche League manual.  I made lists of questions.  How do I handle the umbilical cord?  What’s jaundice? How do I know if she’s got it?

And I studied her. Her little face. Her tiny fingers.  Her aimlessly-kicking bowlegs.

Then one day I called my sister Carolyn and complained.  “I have to say I’m getting a little bored looking at her, all these hours I’m nursing her.”

“For heaven’s sake, why are you just staring at her?” asked Carolyn.

“I thought I had to do that.”

“Read a book! Watch a movie! Do something nice for yourself, while she’s nursing!  Enjoy sitting still.  You’ll be chasing her around soon enough.”

Ah.  It was ok to pause my microfocus.  I could let go for fifteen minutes, while she nursed.

I watched The Karate Kid, in 15-minute segments, all day long.  It was wonderful.

I grew braver after that, and wiser.  I took her to the Morton Arboretum, just her and me… and felt restored to sanity in the fresh air, walking through the gardens.

I strapped her to my chest and went for walks.  Just getting out of the house was pushing reset on my serenity.

I set her down (where I could see her) and watched a few minutes of a video workout, giving myself some exercise during the day.

I asked my husband to watch her on Sundays while I took time to myself, to write.  It felt like heaven.

And she thrived.

As a matter of fact, she did better when I was calmer, and more relaxed.

So, I learned another of motherhood’s big lessons: Self-care is not selfish. It was a lesson I had to learn over and over again, through the years of active mothering.

Self-care is essential, for mothers most of all.