Conventional wisdom has it that the first year of a baby’s life is the hardest (on the parents, that is): You get no sleep, you fret over every possible sign of ill health, and if it’s your first kid anyway, you have no idea what you’re doing.
But lately, I’ve begun to doubt that thinking. Partly because I’ve been really, really tired lately. This isn’t Sasha’s fault, or at least I don’t think it is. She sleeps about as well as ever, from 7:30 at night till 6 the next morning. There’ve been a few surprises in the last couple of weeks (including an 11pm screaming fit that lasted for hours and couldn’t be CIO’d), but in general we’re very lucky. Except that I’m falling asleep at 9:30 or 10 o’clock—just passing out like a brick on the couch. I don’t remember such a thing happening in the first year at all.
But that’s not why I’m thinking that the first year may be the easiest. It’s that now, well into Sasha’s second year on the planet, the worries are newly complicated: Is she learning language fast enough? Will she be confused by the multiple languages she exists in? Is she developing complex motor skills?
These are questions that aren’t easily or definitively answered. And they make me look back fondly on the first year, when the metrics for success were much simpler. Eating? Yes. Growing? Yes. Sleeping? Sometimes.
Whenever Sasha learned something new in the first year—like following a mobile with her eyes, or rolling over—it was basic, uncomplicated. She either did it, or she didn’t, and if she didn’t she would eventually, anyway.
But once she started walking, just after turning one, it all got messier. When we asked ourselves, “What’s best for her?,” the answer was, well, answers. And more questions. Decisions had to be made, paths followed. And we won’t know for years, or maybe decades, if they were the right ones. Oh, for the months when, sleep-deprived and stressed-out, Jean and I cheered every drop of milk Sasha downed!
Still, I’m not saying that first year was tops, but I remember having the impression that once we were through it, things would get easier. I guess I was misled. All I want now is some sleep, which is why I can’t wait for Sasha to become the kind of teenager who stays up all night and sleeps in till noon. Things will be much better then, right?
I also feel like there’s more permission and understanding in the first year for being so mind-blowingly tired. Now, with a toddler at home, I feel like I’ve lost all of my excuses, even if she slept through the night or decided to cry for hours for no reason. It makes me want to throw my own tantrum.