“Parenting is the easiest thing in the world to have an opinion about,
but the hardest thing in the world to do.”
– American commentator, Matt Walsh
BECOMING a first-time parent is like stepping into a world where every day feels like both a test and a lesson.
No matter how many books my husband and I have read, how many articles we have scrolled through late at night, how many videos we have watched with full attention, or how many tips we have collected from friends and relatives who have walked this path before, nothing truly prepared us for the reality of trying to understand our own baby.
Before giving birth, I imagined that if I equipped myself with enough knowledge, I would somehow be ready – that there would be a neat, almost scientific checklist of solutions for every cry, every fuss, and every restless night.
But what I quickly learned is that there is no such thing as one-size-fits-all in parenting.
What worked wonders for another mother’s baby don’t necessarily work for mine.
What soothed someone else’s child only seems to frustrate mine further.
And sometimes, no matter how much we try, nothing seems to work at all.
Like most new parents, my husband and I tried to prepare by buying all the things we were told would help.
A nice crib stood ready beside our bed, a baby rocker promised soothing motions, and a swing designed to mimic a gentle cradle awaited its turn.
We thought these would give us some breathing space – that if our baby had the right gear, he would sleep better and longer.
But night after night, those purchases stood untouched or quickly abandoned.
At first, I questioned myself.
Were we doing something wrong? Had we set the wrong routine, missed the right window of sleep, or failed to use these tools correctly?
We run through it all like seasoned investigators searching for a missing clue, and yet there are times when, despite ticking all the boxes, our little one still wails and refuses to settle.
We would exchange helpless glances, both of us silently wondering what we are missing.
And that is when guilt finds its way in – the quiet, unspoken guilt of feeling like we are failing at the most basic task of parenthood: knowing what our baby wants.
I catch myself asking: Shouldn’t I know this by instinct? Isn’t a mother supposed to understand her child’s needs without hesitation?
And yet here I am, fumbling, guessing, and second-guessing every decision.
The truth, as I am slowly realising, is that babies are not puzzles to be solved once and for all.
They are not ticking boxes on a to-do list.
They are little human beings with their own personalities, temperaments, and rhythms.
Just as much as our baby is adjusting to the world outside the womb, we are adjusting to him.
He is teaching us as much as we are trying to care for him.
In my worry, I reached out to a friend who had walked this road before me.
I told her how perplexed we were that our baby refused to settle in his crib, rocker, or swing, and instead only seemed content when held against my chest.
She laughed and said, “It’s totally normal – because you’re his favourite person in this world.”
And just like that, I felt my heart soften.
Of course he prefers me – after all, for nine months, I was his entire world.
Even so, those tender moments often come wrapped in exhaustion.
Sleep deprivation changes everything.
Nights blur into days, and days fold into nights.
Sometimes, I wake unsure whether I last fed the baby an hour ago or three hours ago.
My husband, too, has dark circles under his eyes from countless trips to prepare bottles and rocking the baby back to sleep in the dim glow of the night light.
Yet, in the haze of fatigue, we have found strength in teamwork.
Parenthood has stretched us thin, but it has also pulled us closer.
There are moments when I am at my wit’s end, tears threatening to fall because nothing seems to soothe our son, and my husband quietly steps in, takes the baby into his arms, and gives me the chance to breathe.
Other times, it is me who steps up when I see his shoulders slump from exhaustion.
In those quiet handovers, when one of us whispers to the other, “I’ve got him now,” I realise this journey is not one I walk alone.
Our partnership is not perfect – we still snap at each other in the fog of 3 am frustration – but our commitment to weathering the chaos together is what keeps us grounded.
If anything, becoming parents has reminded us that love is not always about grand gestures.
Sometimes, it is about taking turns pacing the living room floor with a crying baby.
Sometimes, it is about taking turns to eat or have a shower.
Sometimes, it is about quietly slipping away after finally putting the baby down, only to sit at the dining table and laugh wearily at how upside down our lives have become.
Slowly, I am learning that it is okay not to have all the answers.
That parenthood is not about perfection, but presence.
My baby may not always need my husband and I to “fix” what is wrong.
Sometimes, all he needs is to know that we are there – holding him, comforting him, showing him that he is safe even when the world feels too loud, too bright, or too overwhelming.
The guilt still lingers at times.
The exhaustion is real and unrelenting.
But amid the chaos, I am also beginning to see the beauty of this journey.
Every cry is not a failure, but a conversation in a language we are slowly learning.
Every sleepless night is not just a burden, but also a reminder that we are building resilience and discovering new layers of patience and love.
For now, my husband and I are learning our baby’s language one cry, one cuddle, and one sleepless night at a time.
It is humbling, exhausting, and deeply transformative.
Perhaps that is the true essence of parenthood – not in knowing everything right away, but in growing alongside the tiny person who has turned our lives upside down in the most extraordinary way possible.
