Before I go any further, I feel that I may need to explain just who Charlotte York is. For those of you who know this fictitious character, please forgive me for indulging those who may not.

Charlotte York is the waspy best friend of Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City fame. I used to joke that Charlotte was like a walking magazine rack and by that I meant she had a lot of issues. The one thing that I liked most about Charlotte was her desire to be a mother, to be Miss Susie Homemaker and Betty Crocker all rolled into one super hot lady. She wore dresses and pearls, never looked slobby, even during her pregnancy. All around, Charlotte was a pretty classy lady.

In the latest movie, Charlotte is going through a few parental dramas with her adopted daughter and biological daughter. Charlotte always seemed to have this overly romanticized version of being a mother and secretly (perhaps maybe not so secretly) held the desire to be like June Cleaver, the completely together mom who makes cupcakes for your classes while cleaning the house and maintaining some level of fun and normalcy within the family unit. And oh yeah, Mrs. Cleaver does all of this in her skirts, pearls, and heels.

Charlotte’s parental dilemma is basically a breakdown in which she hides in the pantry and cries about the fact that everything isn’t as it seems and that her visions of children dancing around in one happy family unit, aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Charlotte, even though she has the help of a nanny, feels like she must do it all and when she can’t or when it becomes much too overwhelming, she succumbs to the dreaded monster called Hopelessness.

I, in fact, experienced this same level of hopelessness on Monday. Davey hadn’t slept since around noon on Sunday, except for the periodic 30 minute nap here and there. For the most part, he was only satisfied with being latched to one of my breasts or just being held in general. Sunday night was much the same and needless to say I didn’t get much sleep. He cried most of the morning on Monday. I changed his diaper, fed him non-stop (until I felt like I was completely drained and 5 pounds lighter) and even gave him a supplement. Nothing would work, he just continued to cry which at that point spurned on my crying and breakdown to the level of Charlotte’s in the second Sex and the City movie.

I texted my husband, called my dad, and blubbered on the phone with my mother about being a horrible mother. After all, I couldn’t seem to find a way to appease my son and his crying was moving the point of a near catastrophic breakdown for me. I was sleep deprived, my mind wasn’t exactly thinking and my heart was aching over the fact that I couldn’t fix what was wrong with my son. I told myself I was a horrible mother, as I continued to cradle my son and cry with him. My husband called and I profusely apologized to him for the fact that he married me and chose me to be the mother of his children. He, of course, immediately came home and relieved me for about 3 hours while I caught up on some much-needed sleep.

What I’ve come to realize is that I’m only human. I love my son with all my heart and there’s not a day that goes by that I regret having him. He is my life, my sunshine, my heart, my soul, my flesh and blood, and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. I just have to remind myself that I can’t be Wonder Woman or Wonder Mom for that matter. I can only do so much and can only work with what the good Lord gave me.

Last night, after feeding Davey, I had this paranoia that he wasn’t going to sleep again and I would be at my wit’s end. After putting him to sleep, I said a prayer to God. I asked for Him to continue to walk with me each day, to guide me, and to help me as I raised my son. I asked for forgiveness for any self-doubt I had and thanked Him for giving me the greatest gift in the world….my son.