15Nov

Time Is [Not] On My Side

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 1 Comment

Last week, a mere ten days post-C-section, we wandered all over Assisi with friends and had a marvelous time. I took this to mean that I had finally developed super-powers and agreed to host dinner for friends, entertain a house guest, and cook a Thanksgiving feast for fifteen people this week. I believe the term for this is “delusions of grandeur.”

It’s not that taking care of a newborn is difficult; Sophie’s happy with a full tummy, a clean diaper, and 23 hours of sleep a day. It’s just that everything takes so much time now. Or rather, ordinary household duties don’t magically take negative time to make up for the 350 minutes a day I now spend feeding and changing the precious little addition to our lives. (Not to mention the compulsory hour or two reminding her how ridiculously cute she is.) (Beyond legal limits of cuteness, in case you were wondering.)

With a new six-hour deficit to each day, I find the hideous words “time management” pacing through my mind like the Grim Reaper. They don’t help except to cackle ominously each time the clock prevents me from taking the girls on a walk or sitting down to write or showering before lunch. And it’s hard. Hard to reconcile my sense of individuality and ambition with the reality of constant momhood. Hard to soothe my impatient mind with the fact that I will one day miss the way my little girls cling to me for survival. Hard to give enough quality time to each child to diffuse the guilt of so much busyness, even though the children are the source of that busyness.

Many people have offered their help, but I don’t know what to ask for… except maybe a clone. Or double-strength sleep. Or self-cleaning laundry. Or an hour dispenser. (Paying attention, Santa?)

The last thing I want to do is stumble bleary-eyed and frazzled–or worse, grudgingly–through this irreplaceable stage of life. I know that all too soon I’ll miss the way Natalie feeds me pretend candy 700 times a day, and the way Sophie giggles every time she drifts off to sleep. Maybe I just need to take a course on time management to figure this motherhood thing out. Unfortunately, I don’t have the time…

7Nov

One Week Later

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 6 Comments

One week later, I’m feeling closer to myself than I have… well, all year. Longer, actually. The last many, many months have dragged me across uncharted and incredibly rocky terrain, shredding my stability and grinding gravel into my view of the world. You know. Sort of.

But this morning? Not a single looming uncertainty on the horizon. Energy. Patience. An unexpectedly friendly number on the scale. Golden sunlight through golden leaves. Half-giggled conversations with Natalie. Sweet-smelling baby snuggles. Recovery.

Our sweet Sophie Ruth was born last Wednesday, already months old in size and awareness of the world. One week later, her peaceful little presence is filling in the blanks of our family, her spontaneous smiles and squeaks eclipsing even the stress of a dirty kitchen (::shock::). One week later, the four of us find ourselves meshing together, layers beneath our skin. One week later, life is full of the kind of mushy metaphors that will only sound butchered and Hallmark-y when typed out loud. But trust me, they’re true.

30Oct

Prepartum Depression

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 1 Comment

Is it possible to contract postpartum depression before one’s baby is born?

I feel like I was handed a “Get Out of Jail Free” card when Natalie was born. The depression I was expecting, due to both my mother’s lifelong misery and my own pessimistic streak, never materialized. I never felt trapped in an impossible life, resentful of my baby, overwhelmed by the minute hand. I never had to measure the success of a day by how few irrational crying sessions I managed. I never battled fatigue that pinned me down with almost-physical force. I never felt unthinkable thoughts like I don’t want to be a mother anymore.

Until now. Yesterday was our due date according to my first ultrasound, and I can’t fathom why I’m still pregnant… not when the baby is big enough to be a two-month-old, not when her sister was born four weeks early, not when I’ve spent every day of the last month analyzing contractions. It feels like punishment, especially since my mind and body no longer cooperate with the simple task of surviving. And no, realizing that she will be here soon no longer makes me excited.

I already want to delete this post because I don’t want to admit that this October has sucked, tremendously, and because I don’t want to give people the impression that I’m imperfect (Pastor’s Kid Syndrome) or–heaven forbid–neurotic. That’s why I haven’t written much lately and why I haven’t posted most of what I’ve written.

This morning, however, I was reading some of Dooce’s archives about depression as well as journal entries from a friend whose newborn daughter was born crippled, and their honesty loosened the straightjacket I’ve shoved over my struggling brain. I have plenty of relatives who cope with problems by stuffing them into a sealed vault that eventually corrodes and leaks acid over everyone around, and I don’t want to do that to myself or my family. Ever.

So this post has no point except to say I’m having a hard October, which feels a lot like admitting I’m an alcoholic or a serial killer or possibly a combination of the two. But I’m glad to open the vault. It’s my grown-up way of rebelling against my parents and also a pretty good way to actively unregret myself. Call it therapy.

22Oct

Apologius Gestationus

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized 2 Comments

I’ve been drifting somewhere off the coast of Reality for the last… week? decade? I have little sense of time anymore. I often find myself clinging to delirious excitement until my emotive muscles shake from the effort, then falling perilously low into hatred of life, love, and all things cute. Only 38 weeks, yet I feel like I will be pregnant forevermore.

I do apologize for the gestational theme of the few blog entries I’ve managed to eke out lately. This site is not a mommyblog, and if it ever becomes such, you have permission to hate-mail me into obscurity. My only excuse for solely pregnancy-related entries is that my brain has been replaced by Britney Spears’s voice whining “Baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby, baby.” (Even worse than you’re imagining right now.)

I will be human again eventually. Promise.

17Oct

Not.enough.sleep.

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized Comments Off on Not.enough.sleep.

When Natalie comes padding, bright-eyed, into my room, I am still curled in a fetal position, my breaths overlapping like a newborn’s. My body, my mind, and my motherly instincts are cemented to the bed. Not. enough. sleep.

I find the energy to put her back in her room simply because I have to. I hug her wearily and stumble back to bed with the image of her crumpling face superimposed on my mind. Pressed back against my pillow, I remember the dirty dishes sprawling across the kitchen, the editing work my brain just can’t focus on, the pastry crust in the fridge waiting for a pie I’m too exhausted to make. I realize that waking up is the most tiring chore on my growing daily list. I think about the years of therapy I’m carving out for Natalie by this third-trimester abandonment. She’s still sobbing in her room, and I simultaneously want to shake her until she stops and to cradle her in the kind of hug that absorbs every tear. But I’m too tired for either. It’s the lowest point of my week.

(I need this baby to come soon.)

16Oct

Marshmalliracles

Posted by: Bethany in Uncategorized Comments Off on Marshmalliracles

I feel like I’m holding miracles–this thin sheet of paper with smudgy blue stamps that says I’m a legal resident, this printed green postcard that says I have health coverage. I can’t help feeling like somebody else’s name should be written across the top or that some saw-toothed disclaimer is waiting to jump out and bite me. My ability to relax is wobbly from months of disuse.

But, as reluctant as I am to believe, everything is OK now. I can breathe deeply without fear of triggering uninsured contractions. I can stop plugging each moment of my daughter’s upcoming birth into a mental cash register. I can read Baby, Come Out! to Natalie with the kind of giddy excitement our littlest girl should be greeted with.

::Relaxation (which sounds exactly like the marshmallowy steam swirling up from a mug of hot chocolate)::

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