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In case you need it today, mama: You are more than enough

Mama, that you are not alone. We're all in it with you and sometimes we just need a little reminder that we are enough.

In case you need it today, mama: You are more than enough

I recently witnessed an intimate moment between a dear friend and her newborn son. As we sat on a park bench while our toddlers play, I watched as she got completely lost in time as she simply soaked up her baby. For just a few moments, everything stopped and both mother and child were completely entranced with one another. It was beautiful—a display of the purest love we'll ever have the pleasure of experiencing.

A few minutes later, the moment broke and my friend sighed. "I wish I had done more of this with my first child. You know, just sitting here, soaking her up." Memories of my own daughter's infancy flooded my head, along with the ever-familiar guilt that I too could've done more to soak it all up. But then a memory flashed in my head as I remember the first time I saw my friend with her newborn daughter, and instead of adding my own guilt about moments gone by, I exclaimed, "But mama, you did! Let me remind you…"

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The most sound advice I've heard throughout my short two years of motherhood is this: The fact you feel guilty or worried about any part of motherhood means you are already doing a great job. While I am much better about using this truth to empower other moms in my life than leaning into myself, I've learned that's why we have a village—we can't do this alone and sometimes we need a reminder.

So mamas, let me remind you…

When you don't feel like you soaked it all in, I saw the way you adored and cherished your sweet new baby. Yes, I know the constant worry and struggles of new motherhood laced those early days with challenges we never foresaw and sleepless nights that dampened our memories, but let me remind you of the immense love you felt for that baby.

Mama, I didn't even have the nerve to ask to hold your newborn because the bond you immediately shared was unbreakable and I wasn't going to be the person to take your baby out of your arms. The smiles, the coos, the getting lost in each other's eyes… you enjoyed it, mama. It just went by so fast. Too fast.

When you feel a pang of guilt for leaving your child and going to work, let me remind you that your child has never felt like she has anything less than all of you. While logistics and routine race through your head at night to make it through another day and prepare for the next, all she sees is the smile on your face when you pick her up from school.

She knows her evenings are filled with laughter and joy and that your arms are a place where she can still fall asleep even after you've both outgrown the rocker. She feels every time your hand reassuringly touches her head of curls and knows the quality of your time is greater than your quantity.

When you feel overwhelmed that you aren't doing enough to help your kids, let me remind you of the time I watched you leave a party so you could run wind sprints with your son in the backyard to calm his social anxiety and how there was no place you'd rather be. Or the first time he sat at my dinner table, and I watched in awe as someone so young could be so respectful, leaving me desperate to learn everything I possibly could about parenting from you.

Let me remind you that you aren't merely lucky to have a good child, but that you, mama, have raised a good human who reflects all that is good about you.

When you feel bad for missing an opportunity to get on the ground and play with your kids, let me remind you of the nights you slept on the floor by your baby's crib so you could measure her breaths throughout the night. There've been the seasons where you have spent more time at home with sick kids than you have come to work and the hours you've invested in cuddling and comforting equate to the most important work of your life.

Your kids will remember the way you made them feel and the way you worked your magic to bring them comfort in pain, hope in the impossible, and chocolate milkshakes when nothing else would do.

When you feel like you don't measure up to other moms, let me remind you that you are the only mom in the world who can perfectly impersonate Mama Llama and sing more than two dozen verses of "Wheels on the bus."

You are the only mom who can make up a new princess story every night and give your child the cuddles she needs each morning. Even on your off days, you show up. You make the world's best chocolate cookies and can heat up a mean batch of frozen meatballs.

Let me remind you that your baby is going to grow up remembering the belonging she felt looking forward to Friday pizza night and Sunday pancakes more than the number of practices she was shuttled to or Instagram photos you posted.

Your heart is her home and she will never be without it.

Let me remind you, Mama, that you are not alone. The joys. The pains. The guilt. The excitement. The anxiety. We're all in it with you and sometimes we just need a little reminder that we are enough. And mama, you are more than enough.

I felt lost as a new mother, but babywearing helped me find myself again

I wish someone had told me before how special wearing your baby can be, even when you have no idea how to do it.

My first baby and I were alone in our Brooklyn apartment during a particularly cold spring with yet another day of no plans. My husband was back at work after a mere three weeks of parental leave (what a joke!) and all my friends were busy with their childless lives—which kept them too busy to stop by or check in (making me, at times, feel jealous).

It was another day in which I would wait for baby to fall asleep for nap number one so I could shower and get ready to attempt to get out of the house together to do something, anything really, so I wouldn't feel the walls of the apartment close in on me by the time the second nap rolled around. I would pack all the diapers and toys and pacifiers and pump and bottles into a ginormous stroller that was already too heavy to push without a baby in it .

Then I would spend so much time figuring out where we could go with said stroller, because I wanted to avoid places with steps or narrow doors (I couldn't lift the stroller by myself and I was too embarrassed to ask strangers for help—also hi, New Yorkers, please help new moms when you see them huffing and puffing up the subway stairs, okay?). Then I would obsess about the weather, was it too cold to bring the baby out? And by the time I thought I had our adventure planned, the baby would wake up, I would still be in my PJs and it was time to pump yet again.

Slowly, but surely, and mostly thanks to sleep deprivation and isolation, I began to detest this whole new mom life. I've always been a social butterfly. I moved to New York because I craved that non-stop energy the city has and in the years before having my baby I amassed new friends I made through my daily adventures. I would never stop. I would walk everywhere just to take in the scenery and was always on the move.

Now I had this ball and chain attached to me, I thought, that didn't even allow me to make it out of the door to walk the dog. This sucks, I would think regularly, followed by maybe I'm not meant to be a mom after all.


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This is my one trick to get baby to sleep (and it always works!)

There's a reason why every mom tells you to buy a sound machine.

So in my defense, I grew up in Florida. As a child of the sunshine state, I knew I had to check for gators before sitting on the toilet, that cockroaches didn't just scurry, they actually flew, and at that point, the most popular and only sound machine I had ever heard of was the Miami Sound Machine.

I was raised on the notion that the rhythm was going to get me, not lull me into a peaceful slumber. Who knew?!

Well evidently science and, probably, Gloria Estefan knew, but I digress.

When my son was born, I just assumed the kid would know how to sleep. When I'm tired that's what I do, so why wouldn't this smaller more easily exhausted version of me not work the same way? Well, the simple and cinematic answer is, he is not in Kansas anymore.

Being in utero is like being in a warm, soothing and squishy spa. It's cozy, it's secure, it comes with its own soundtrack. Then one day the spa is gone. The space is bigger, brighter and the constant stream of music has come to an abrupt end. Your baby just needs a little time to acclimate and a little assist from continuous sound support.

My son, like most babies, was a restless and active sleeper. It didn't take much to jolt him from a sound sleep to crying like a banshee. I once microwaved a piece of pizza, and you would have thought I let 50 Rockettes into his room to perform a kick line.

I was literally walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around the house, watching the television with the closed caption on.

Like adults, babies have an internal clock. Unlike adults, babies haven't harnessed the ability to hit the snooze button on that internal clock. Lucky for babies they have a great Mama to hit the snooze button for them.

Enter the beloved by all—sound machines.

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What you need to know about President Trump's Supreme Court pick

The President has reportedly selected his third SCOTUS nominee.

President Donald Trump has chosen his third pick for the Supreme Court—and he picked a mom.

The New York Times reports President Trump is choosing Judge Amy Coney Barrett as his nominee. An official statement is scheduled for Saturday.

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