When We Need Someone Bigger

When my toddler is melting down, between ear-piercing banshee screams and flailing arms, I nobly remind myself, he has never seen Oprah. I have over three decades of self-help scaffolding on him. He shrieks because I have taken his shoes off and he wanted them on and he can’t properly put them on most of the time and I have ruined everything. His face turns red and I imagine the neighbors peering through cracks in the fence to see why Hell has opened in my backyard. I stand there, weighing my options, also wanting to scream. But I am the one who is supposed to be emotionally intelligent, and so I wait it out.

I remind myself that he has never read a book about his amygdala or hypothalamus. He has yet to consider his soul’s purpose (to my knowledge) or taken a walk listening to Eckhart Tolle. He has not yet had a lifetime of a mother talking him through every annoyance and heart break. He hasn’t read Rumi alone in the bathroom or spent hours doing art on a rainy day. He never sat at the edge of an island cliff while puffins flew in to roost, just feet away. He hasn’t had the luxury of finding each nugget of calm that the world around him can offer. And as I said, he hasn’t seen a single episode of Oprah. 

Oprah would invite him to sit beneath her giant oak trees, offer him a soft blanket and something warm to drink. She would summarize exactly how he was feeling, and then invite him to elaborate. His tears would stop, he would curiously dip his fingers in the drink, then spill everything and launch into excited jumping on her cushions. He wouldn’t know that this move didn’t work out so well for Tom Cruise. 

How can I expect him to control himself in each frustrating moment when he is only able to draw from three years of experience on this earth? He has only just begun to form opinions and realize how much it burns to have them upended. I’m a thirtysomething woman and I certainly don’t remember to “belly breathe” when someone nearly runs me off the road. I lean into the road rage, let the expletives flow like a fountain, and grip the wheel like Cruella DeVille. I don’t think Rumi had a poem about that.

But also, I’m a mom. I haven’t had as much sleep as I have wanted on pretty much any occasion for the past three years. I’ve earned the equivalent of a masters in deciphering whines, cries, and coos. I’m well versed in the particulars of what my toddler will allow on his dinner plate and how often it will come out the other end. Some part of it will wind up on me every day. I arrange my schedule around a tiny person who is by turns sweet as pie or diminutive dictator. Nearly every project I attempt is thwarted at some stage. My Eckhart Tolle podcast is interrupted by the puppy tackling the toddler. Rumi in the bathroom is accompanied by knocking at the door and crying. And Oprah? When was the last time I sat beneath her oak trees with writers, musicians, or monks? 

So who can blame me when, despite thirty something years of learning how to emotionally regulate, I look more like my toddler, mid-meltdown. Some wretched combination of potty training failures, allergic reactions, incoherent demands and worries for the future have taken me down on this day. It’s an ugly cry and I hope it won’t be his first memory. But dang, it feels cathartic. Perhaps it’s like a chiropractic adjustment, and everything inside of me has to pop, crack, and explode every once in a while so that my pieces can fall back into place. And then I’m back to talking him through his tantrums, empathetic and soothing. My pieces have lined up again to let something bigger than me flow through. 

 

Carbonated Bayou

 

My friends are checking in on me. They are asking me how I’m doing and I tell them, “It’s a lot of ups and downs.” This is the typical refrain that we say about going through grief. And it feels sort of true to me. But when I think about ups and downs, I think about thrilling roller coaster rides and dramatic high school relationships. But it’s easier to say this than to try to explain what I’m really feeling.

What this really feels like is being submerged in a thick, murky carbonated bayou. The putrid water is over my head of course. When I first heard the news, I was panicked and shocked, flailing around without oxygen. In the days since, I have perhaps grown some sort of gill structure that allows me to exist in this way without needing to come up much for air. Or maybe part of me died, too, and so I can move about in this underworld. I do normal things like go to the grocery store, complete paperwork, and throw away the flowers that turn brown in vases around my house. But my expression is flat. Everything is slower moving under water. I’m not excited about much of anything. I can’t conjure colors in my mind. I can’t find my direction or bearings in the impenetrable surroundings. 

But as I said, it is carbonated. There are bubbles of happiness I can access as needed. I run into a friend and we catch up about fun summer happenings. My son has success on the potty and we clap and cheer. I smile and say good morning to neighbors on my walk. I make a joke because my mind is still in the habit of making those connections, a vestigial organ. These bubbles of happiness are there, but they are limited. After I use one, my mouth falls back into a straight line. My body is still sore. 

This is not a straightforward period of mourning. There are plenty of unanswered questions and conversations that needed to happen. There is a gaping hole of unmet potential. Sweet memories are chased by broken promises. These are the alligators that live with me in this bayou. They snap at my sleep and scrape my throat with rough scales. 

There are also the occasional streams of sunlight that make their way through the bog. They are the small signs from beyond that are too perfect to be coincidence. They are pieces of conversations about him that suddenly become physical objects in front of my eyes. They are sounds and songs. They are intuitive movies that play out in my mind to try to explain how things happened. I follow the beams of light upward to the trees where they filter through the Spanish moss. His presence takes up the whole sky. For a while then I can live up in the tree branches, soaking in the sun and rain, and wait to be carried home with the birds. 

How My Mom Teaches Me To Love My Son

"Don't wish this time away." That was what my mom said to me after I casually mentioned how I looked forward to when my son would be able to do lots of fun things with me like hike and run around. At that moment, he was curled in my arms and my own body felt like it hadn't left the couch since we brought him home. Which it pretty much hadn't. Now, just three months out, I better understand her allegiance to savoring each temporary phase.

My son is less a squishy little love nugget, and more a wiggly alert noise maker. Each has its place, but now when I am quietly feeding him at ten thirty at night, his body calm, I know what she meant. I study the swirls in the hair that are rapidly filling in on his head. It seems like the pattern of hair for an old man, and I realize with shocking pain that I won't be there for him when he has grown old. I relayed this thought to my mom and she closed her eyes, nodding her head in recognition. I try to memorize the sweet profile that is changing each day. I feel how his tiny hands absent mindedly scratch my rib cage. The fact that this won't last - that one day I will have to watch him drive away from this home we are only just beginning to build - it's enough to break my heart.

I worry about if I am doing any of this right. Did I feed him enough today? Will his nap schedule put him on track for a good night of sleep (for both of us)? Does he know how loved he is? Maybe it's as simple and as complicated as the song would have it - "You'll never know dear, how much I love you." My mom and I used to sing that together when I was little. Now I sing it to my son. I sing him "Sweet Baby James," another inherited love song. He is like a balloon that I try to continually fill up with all of the good things I have. Somehow it never feels like it will be enough for what he deserves.

God, the Universe, it trusts us with these beautiful small souls sent our way. They are at the mercy of their own needs and whims, and we are rendered helpless with misunderstanding. There is a mental list I run through when his cries pierce my nerves, but first I look at his face and try to feel what is wrong instead. Sometimes there is no answer but to be there with him. His face rests on my shoulder, issuing cry after slow cry. I am transported back to my mom's arms, remembering the feeling of my own cries petering out, determined for her to know that I was serious about my feelings.

That Feeling?

Is there a word for the small sadness that settles in your chest when the baby is napping after a hard cry and the dog is looking forlorn under the table? It's the feeling that wraps itself in the quiet of the house and tastes like cold coffee. It looks like the gray light that colors everything in the room a little cooler and threatens to rain on your plans for a walk or the park or trying to talk to those other moms without knowing what to say.

The feeling makes demands on you to create more fun, more memories, and more meaning for this short time. It sets in motion a series of questions that lead to the ultimate question - Am I enough? Your brain ticks through the next hours of the day that are segmented by sleep, hard won for everyone. Inserted into the timeline are points to eat (something easily prepared in five minutes or less). There should also be an outing or two, carefully orchestrated to avoid crying in a contained public space or contamination from reemerging infectious diseases. Also, you should be back to the house within an hour and a half for the next nap. Do these places exist?

Until then, you watch his sweet, sleeping image on the monitor. Your most loyal dog, the one who stayed next to you all night while you labored, keeps watching you and you feel a new surge of guilt. You slip into the nursery to take pictures of the tiny baby feet tucked under his bum, the little hand pressed against his cheek. You try to draw him and realize why Mary Cassatt was a master.

You make a To Do list, in the hopes of driving out the feeling. Motion, action is the antidote. Watching tv only makes you more antsy. You click on the radio for company. You plant the flowers and clean the fridge, plan upcoming meals and wonder when the baby will wake. You search activities that three month olds like.

But then you are all three stretched out on a blanket in the grass, watching the sun peek out from behind the clouds, and everything feels as perfect as it could. Does the sun drive the feeling out, drying up all of its wetness? Or is it blown away by the soft breeze of the effortlessly beautiful fall weather? Is it the baby smiling at the grass and the dog, or the dog contentedly watching the soccer game? It has all come together in a fortuitous meeting that you had no more control over than you did the crying or the sad eyes. And that is the best and the worst fact after all.

Things to Remember About the Early Weeks

For future me, for future mamas, here are the things to remember about the early weeks of having a newborn.*

*As it relates to my own hospital experience and my own firstborn, experiences may vary, yada yada yada.

Hospital Tips

1. Plan for a C-Section. You probably won't need one. I only haphazardly planned for one in that I packed for four days instead of two. Then I needed one. I wish I had known a bit more about C-Section recovery so that I could prepare my house. Be ready to live on one floor if you have stairs. Consider a sleeping situation that will allow you to pull yourself up by your arms (grabbing the back of the sofa or big chair arms). Have a whole baby setup that will allow sleeping, bathing, eating, and changing diapers where you are. Also consider how you will bathe yourself. We have our only shower on the second floor. You definitely won't want to take precious time and energy to go to the gym showers, so how about a friend or relative's house? Sponge baths are great and all, but eventually you'll want to wash that matted bun you've been sporting.  Also, think of someone who can do your laundry, pick up clutter, and throw together meals. Even if you have prepped freezer meals, have someone else heat them up! I know everyone says this, but seriously, you will need the help. I promise you'll eventually be able to do it yourself. But while you're healing, feeding a baby every two hours, and trying to get any kind of sleep, help is totally necessary for a bit. You should walk a little to build up your strength, but don't wear yourself out just doing the daily tasks. A pair of extension grabbers is also handy for when you drop something. Or two pairs for getting dressed if you don't have a butler. Pulling up pants and socks becomes a herculean task when your abs are healing from an incision. Nightgowns that can pass for daytime dresses are also a plus. It's tough to get pants to fit right away and tricky to put them on. Also, you may be incredibly puffy from IV fluids. The only pair of shoes I could wear were my Birkenstock's because they were adjustable. A little app that helps you remember when you take your meds and vitamins is also key. The nurses giving instructions are going to sound like Charlie Brown's teachers and those days are going to be FUZZY.

2. Bring a baby nail file and/or baby gloves to the hospital. Oddly enough, they didn't have nail files there and baby nails harden up and sharpen up in just a few days. A little shirt that has the gloves built in is even more handy. In fact, don't bother with regular onesies at the hospital at all. The baby should basically just wear shirts until the umbilical stump falls off. Our hospital-issued white kimono had turned a sad shade of dingy by the time we were on our way home.

3. Use every lactation consultant and nurse you have access to while learning to breastfeed. Even if this is not your first rodeo, it is your baby's, and every professional will have different tips and styles for hand expressing, latching, and positioning. We weren't aware that we were supposed to have a nurse on each shift watch us breastfeed, but I can see why. It can be really difficult to make the schedules match, of course. The nurses have other patients and the baby won't always wait. With that though, keep at it. I had so much bruising that I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out when my baby would latch. It turns out he has an overbite, and we should have been changing his positioning. It took a while for both of us to get it. In the beginning, it was a two man job with me holding the baby and breast, and my husband holding his flailing hands with razor sharp talons. I promise, you'll also be able to do this on your own eventually. I would say that things finally clicked to the point that I wasn't googling "When does breastfeeding get easier?" and wondering why I had ever wanted to do it...around two weeks out. Now, I actually really love it. I love being all he needs. The lack of sleep in the beginning is REAL, but there is such a closeness that I can't quite describe. Oh, and don't forget to bring your breastfeeding pillow to the hospital.

4. Use that dang "Do Not Disturb" sign. I was so incredibly desperate for sleep, and everyone seems to complain about the lack of it at any hospital. If I had known before about the glorious little sign, that thing would have been up post-haste. I would also try to see if my vitals, meds, and baby's vitals could be consolidated at all into fewer visits. It seemed like we were always being woken up for something different. Also have your meal orders ready to go. I would get calls for my breakfast, lunch, and dinner order and would have to call back later when I had looked at the menu. I always wound up getting the same basic thing anyway, which is easy if you're on a medically limited diet. It's a good idea to bring some plates and tupperware from home as well since I typically found that I couldn't eat all of my food by the time they were ready to collect the tray. Interruptions and baby needs took precedent.

Baby Items

Everybody and their sister has a "baby registry must haves" or "baby registry regrets" list. Here are the things I have found to be super useful:

1. Muslin swaddles. Plenty of them. They are great for swaddling, especially in the summer. They are burp cloths. They are tummy time mats. They get thrown over the car seat to block sun. They are a fun game to play when you drag them over the baby for sensory learning. They are the backdrop for my weekly pictures. They protect the boppy from blowouts. They get washed and used constantly.

2. Halo sleep sacks and Halo sleep sack swaddles. This was the only thing I felt comfortable swaddling my baby in at night after I saw how he could escape the muslin swaddle and throw it over his own face.

3. Boppy pillows. Yes, I said pillows because I have two of them. I keep one upstairs and one downstairs, and it is great to have one less thing to tote around the house. Also, multiple covers because, blowouts and spit ups.

4. A sound machine nightlight. I love the Hatch Baby Rest that everyone else loves. It connects to an app on your phone and you can adjust sound, color, volume, and brightness right from there. This thing is not only a miracle worker for my baby's sleep, but it also helps me when I need to get up in the middle of the night. I didn't realize how important light control would be for keeping that baby niiiiice and drowsy during night feedings or diaper changes.

5. Piggy backing on the last point, I also opted for a motion-detecting LED nightlight strip that goes under his crib. With hands full of sleeping baby and overhead lights off, this handy little strip lights the way when you walk by and turns itself off after a set time. Mine was by Vansky.

6. Our pediatrician recommended using one of those pull-musical-hanging-accordion-critter things for helping the baby associate when it is time to sleep. Apparently this is useful for teaching the baby to start to put himself down for naps and such. So we have one. I have to wait and see.

7. Along those same lines, the baby love love LOVES his mobile. I made the little felt animals myself and bought the other hardware online. We also have a part that plays lots of different songs, all of which I now have memorized. This little doohickey has allowed me to get ready in the morning with a happy, mesmerized baby in his crib.

8. Notice how almost all of these items have been about sleep? Yeah. So also, multiple sheets for your crib or bassinet. I didn't do the whole sheet stacking thing, and I didn't find that I needed to. If there was ever a bad wet spot in the middle of the night, I moved the baby to another part of the mattress until morning, or into the other sleeping device we had for him. Still, you'll want to get that changed out quickly for naps the next day.

9. I use the Baby Tracker app for knowing when and for how long my baby ate, slept, and how many diapers he produces when I'm concerned. Best of all, this can be synced between caregivers' devices.

10. For bathing I like the Angelcare Baby Bath Support because our baby has always been pretty big, and more than once has peed during bath time. This way, there's no water to change. Other than that we use the whale baby bath scoop to keep water out of his eyes (mostly) and some used baby towels and washcloths, along with the basin and comb we got from the hospital. Our pediatrician also recommended Dove baby soap for hair, face, and dirty bits. I don't mind kneeling to bathe him in the tub because it seriously takes about five minutes if that.

11. For furniture in the room, we like having a true changing table rather than a setup on a dresser because my husband is tall and I find the storage really useful. I also love the comfy glider we got for all those hours nursing and rocking, as well as a little cube storage shelf for books and toys. I think it's nice to have them displayed a la Montessori. A bouncer seat is handy for reading to him or keeping him close during a shower or other chores. I like a fan in his room for air circulation and white noise. Lastly, I like having a bed for myself in the nursery. On nights when my husband has to work the next day, I sleep with the baby so that my husband's sleep isn't disturbed. Plus, I think this may help when it comes time for the baby to sleep by himself, because he will already be used to his own room and crib. In the early early days, we also used a bassinet on wheels to tote him around the house when he was able to sleep anywhere. That was good to have.

12. Clothes, toys, and books are popular hand-me-downs and gifts, so there isn't much need to get too many of them. They are also easy to get second hand. Remember that your baby won't be playing much in the beginning. I would guess that around one month was when our little one started noticing items more. At that point he loved black and white books and his baby gym. I got this one even though I had originally been set on a wooden one, because it was...minimalist? Not plastic? Chic? Anyway, I'm glad I got this (cheaper) one because having the mat attached really helps, and the baby enjoys the multiple patterns. This thing is a lifesaver when I want to eat a meal with two hands.

13. Binkies. Our lactation consultant suggested a particular type and size to help his overbite and it has given us all peace at key moments.

Sleep

I feel like I read and heard so many different things about baby sleep that my head was spinning by the end. So in preparation for this next set of advice, keep in mind that your baby is going to determine a lot on their own, and you'll probably wind up having to go with the flow and change things up as needed and as you learn your baby. Here's what worked for mine:

1. Keep things bright during the day and darker at night to help him set his own circadian rhythm. Some people are all about black-out curtains, but I'm not. My baby didn't need it and seemed to have a good sense of night and day.

2. Learn about typical awake times for your baby's age. I don't know that I knew about this or paid attention to it at first and would just kind of let my little guy decide when to finally fall asleep. I think in the early days this lead to him being overtired and probably offered food more often than necessary. Once I kept track on my app how long he had been awake, I could better tell if his fussiness was likely from being tired.

3. Don't expect a routine too early on. I did. Like I said, I was desperate for sleep and I wanted to know when I was going to get it! With my baby, he mostly slept and ate all the time when he was super little, then once he gained more weight and got a little older, he had more awake time. I kept hearing about routines, though, so I felt like I was doing something wrong that I never knew when anything was going to happen. Our routine has come on very slowly. First we started to wake and feed at around the same time each day. Then we got a loose bedtime routine with bath, lotion, story, songs, and sleep. His naptime still changes by the day it seems - he is alternately growing and going through developmental leaps that affect his eating and sleeping. For instance, early in the week he was catnapping for 30 minutes at a time for no more than three and a half hours of daytime sleep. Then yesterday he napped for two hours at a time in the morning, taught himself to scoot on his belly, then napped some more. The pediatrician tells me that things become more predictable around three months, then get thrown off by the four month sleep regression and teething. She also said that the baby shouldn't really go for more than 3 1/2 hours during the day without eating at this stage or he'll be making up his calories at night. I assume they get back on track after that? Anyway, the point is, go easy on yourself and know that your life will start making sense again eventually. I'm hoping.

4. Develop a "bedtime voice." When it is time for baby to fall asleep or stay asleep, be your own Bob Ross. Everything is soft, slow, dim, and as boring as possible. Believe it or not, by just being yourself, you are high entertainment for this baby. Save that for daytime.

Daily Life

Pretty much from the time I was bedridden after birth, I wanted to know when things would get easier. Two weeks was the magical number for feeding and some simple locomotion like walking and driving. A month felt even better for long walks and beginning to take on some light daily tasks. By the time I was medically cleared, I still had a bit of pain internally at times, but I was so ready to be able to walk my dog again and get the stroller and car seat out myself. It all comes back. I think. It just takes some time.

But...what do you do with a baby? I looked up so many YouTube videos and websites just trying to figure out what I could do to entertain, educate, and pass the time with this tiny human. I approached it very scientifically at first. I wanted to make sure I was doing all the things. The reading things. The singing things. The talking things. It is tricky at first because they don't really react much to you. Once my baby became more aware of his environment at about a month or so, it got easier. I could respond to what seemed to interest him. He likes moving around, a lot. Whether that's batting his hanging toys, learning to scoot himself with his legs, being carried, or going for multiple walks in his stroller, this kid is on the move. I found that James Taylor seemed to soothe him. So we dance and sing Sweet Baby James and Fire and Rain. He smiles when we do the Itsy Bitsy Spider. He studies his books (when he's in the mood). And when he naps for just 30 minutes, he sits in his bouncer seat and watches me do chores while I talk about those chores and swat at him with pieces of clothing to feel before I fold the blue soft shirt or big warm sweater that we wear in the winter. It just kind of happens now. So, it will probably happen naturally with most families that aim to be present with their kids.

I'm no expert, but with all of this still fresh in my mind, I hope it helps some new mamas out there.

Motherhood and Dichoto-me

On Quora, people are always asking things like, "What is one thing you never knew/wish you knew/no one told you about..." x, y, or z situation. As a new mother, my feed is filled with people asking and answering questions about labor, parenthood, and all the nitty-gritty obscene unmentionables about children. If I were to answer, "What is one thing you never realized about motherhood?" it would go something like this:

When the mother's body splits open to bring forth a child, the rest of her world splits as well. Everything inside her mind and that makes up her day becomes, for better or worse, a dichotomy. There are high highs and low lows, there are wishes for things and the opposites of those things, there are baby smiles one moment and screams the next. Her existence becomes yin and yang, undulating together with near unpredictability.

The mental state of flow, that timeless floaty place, grinds to a halt while at the same time, mindful awareness of the current moment turns up to high definition. The mother may not know what day it is, but is keenly aware of how many minutes the baby has been eating without needing a clock. A schedule that was once comprised of big blocks of project time suddenly splinters into fragmented tiny tasks or parts of tiny tasks. Each one of the mother's wants or needs becomes a highly prized jewel, made much more important by the choice that is made to fulfill it instead of another. Prioritization, once a vague goal, now is essential. In a spot of open time and free hands, it's bathroom before food and food before cleaning. Sometimes cleaning gets usurped by food for the soul. A walk, a chapter in a book, a favorite YouTube channel, or anything that resets the brain and makes it feel familiarity again. Then suddenly, as delicious as those free moments are, she looks in the baby monitor at his sweet sleeping image and just wants to hold him again. Even as the dishes sit and the book tantalizes. Even as his scratches on her neck are still red.

The mother's world before was an even hum and her world now is a jazz solo. Her path used to be an international kayak trip, and her path now is a roller coaster through her own neighborhood. The sophisticated grays of her life before shift into black and white like the board books she now reads to her baby. The mother's new existence is contrast. And contrast brings focus, and meaning, and excitement as it does to any artwork.

Do mothers ever want just one thing again? Do they ever only feel one way again? That is my own question for Quora.

In Repair

John Mayer sings, "I'm in repair - I'm not together, but I'm getting there." That melodic line ran through my head as I wore my belly binder, trying to get my abdominal muscles to stitch back together while the rest of my body adjusted to the needs of my newborn and my emotions attempted to level themselves. Postpartum is such a period of adjustment, waiting for the natural healing processes to take place and doing mental somersaults to understand what this new life means. Meanwhile, the newborn is doing the same thing - trying to learn this unknown world and all the feelings that go with a functioning physical body while communicating only in grunts and wails. It's hard. Even when it's comparatively easy to how others have it, it's hard.

I take comfort in and cling to the thoughts others have had about this time. Well, I take comfort and feel its accompanying shadow, guilt. "It's temporary and gets better at 3 months when they have a routine and 6 months when they can sit up," I've heard. That's a relief, I think, feeling it wash over me and envisioning a return to semi-normalcy. But also, No, don't grow up too fast, little baby! I want to cuddle you forever.  And then the tears spring into my eyes because I understand something about life that I never did before and also I'm a hormonal mess. When the baby screams and flails angrily, I want to call him mean names. Then I hear his little mobile tinkle "You Are My Sunshine," and my cheeks are suddenly wet. I was warned that for at least the first month, I would feel as if I was under water. I just didn't know the water would be made of my own crazy tears.

As I was looking at the rest of my life prior to becoming pregnant and in that stage of determining what I wanted to do with it, I read a book called Wild Mama. I reach into my memory for passages that ring especially true to me now, and for this reason I will always keep such books in my library. Marie Kondo just can't have that part of me. Hasn't she taken enough? Carrie Visintainer writes:

The recovery will be longer now. My abdominal muscles are severed, and it will take months - or years? - to get my core strength back. How long before I can carry the baby on my own? Before I can leave the house, toting my newborn around town and up mountains and into canyons in the sling I'd placed on a hook by the back door? What if the answer is never? (53).

I hadn't anticipated my C-section either. I'd also had a rosy anticipation for this summer that would turn out to be so different from my expectations. I still need help to do many things, to take some of the physical burden off of my healing body for the everyday care of our newborn. I can't walk the dog since she has the tendency to pull her full body against the leash and over my weight limit. I must be careful about how many times a day I do the stairs in the house let alone go hiking with a compliant baby in his carrier. We spend long stretches of days inside the comfort of our air-conditioned house because it is too hot and muggy for a newborn outside, and enclosed public spaces leave room for all sorts re-emerging horrors like pertussis and measles. I seem to bounce off the walls like a pacing racehorse as I attempt to stay on top of chores and remember what things I used to enjoy doing with my time.

I can't count how many times different nurses talked to me about the difference between the Baby Blues and postpartum depression before we left the hospital. Aside from my weakened body and sleep deprived state, I didn't feel anything all that different really. I hadn't been overly hormonal during my pregnancy, either. But after the first few days home, I felt it hit. I was back in my home turf, and yet nothing seemed to feel normal. We were living on our first floor to avoid the stairs, sleeping on our sofa and ottoman, all the accouterments of our life strewn everywhere. I couldn't join my husband and new son outside under the willow tree for more than a few minutes before my incision started to feel strained. A first hopeful walk with the stroller took me only as far as the creek one block from my house. Nursing hurt, and I had to do it all the time. I googled things like, "When does breastfeeding get easier?" and tried to remember the reasons I wanted it to work so badly. I cried to my husband about my frustrations. I cried to my mom about my shattered expectations. I cried alone to Dixie Chicks songs.

Then, like others have said, it lifted one day. As if the loving forces of the universe heard my cries, my son and I got the hang of nursing. The lactation consultant gave us permission to let the baby sleep as long as he liked at night instead of setting alarms and trying in vain to wake him to feed. We learned a few tricks to help him stop wailing after his 3am feeding. My husband performed a miracle and got him to take a morning nap instead of fussing for 3 hours. Each day we either learn a little bit more or simply get lucky. We move forward in fits and starts. The exhausting and noisy nap strike of yesterday becomes a wonderful stream of sleeps the next day.

I took my first solo drive since the birth. It was to my mom's house, and to grab a few things at the store, but I felt like a deliciously free fugitive on the run. I took the time to browse the radio stations instead of staring into the car seat mirror. I took note of the way the sun hit the barns on the back country roads. I recognized myself again. While I'm terribly afraid of my husband going back to work and the potential ensuing loneliness it will bring to long days of being the sole caretaker of my son, I also relish being entirely alone. With no other being in my vicinity, my brain sighs and drifts in ways that it simply won't with even my lovely dog next to me. I needed that drive after 18 days of always having someone next to me.

But. I thought about my son while I was gone. I wondered if he was fussy or hungry without me. I wondered if my husband was frustrated. I wondered if he was still able to get things done while watching him. I wondered if I was staying away too long. Will my brain and my heart forever be split in this way? It is not wholly unpleasant, but it is powerfully confusing.

Visintainer also writes:
Motherhood has elicited this moment of illumination. It's what has torn me down, pushed me off center, and ripped my core to shreds. But this, in turn, has forced me into a place of authenticity where I'm committed to identifying my life's top priorities. (85)
These days, with time segmented into three hour chunks, there is only room for top priorities. Eating and sleeping, making some attempt at cleanliness, walks outside, and oddly writing about this experience have taken center stage. I daydream about hiking, but neither the baby nor my body are ready for that. I stare longingly at my paints, but my brain can't enter flow when it is edgily listening for baby cries. Daytrips, outdoor concerts, creek walking, afternoons on a friend's boat - these have all been plunged into the distance until we can catch up again.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the car window holding my son as I attempted to walk him to sleep. For as much time as I have spent studying his face and little parts of his body since he was born, this was an odd picture for me to understand. Whose baby is that in my arms? Isn't that still the face of my college self? A friend of mine described the strange realization she had that her new son would be someone living with them permanently. As I check on my baby, all stretched out sleeping in his pack and play, I think, "Who are you?" He is the one I dreamed of pushing in the stroller as the leaves turn gold in fall, and the one in a little hoodie by the creek, holding my hand. He is the one I see riding a bike behind my husband and the one with big brown eyes telling me about something that worries him. He is the one who fluttered his feet against my ribs and got hiccups that bounced my insides. I know him and I don't know him. I know me and I don't know me.

Oh, it's taken so long,
I could be wrong, I could be ready.
Oh, but if I take my heart's advice,
I should assume it's still unsteady.
I am in repair.
I am in repair.