Here, but barely!
It’s been nearly 2 months since I’ve written. So:
Happy Holidays! Happy New Year! And yes! I FINALLY HAD OUR BABY.
Pregnancy, for me at least, seems like it’s never going to end. And while I knew, all along, that it couldn’t possibly go on until the end of time, I had my moments when I really wasn’t sure if I was ever going to see my own two feet again.
That time is here.
In fact, we welcomed our second child, a baby girl we’ve named Eliot, on December 30, 2013 at 9:28 in the morning. After a challenging pregnancy, she came into the world via C section. I continue to be grateful for the miracle of her good health and life. She is a sweet, pleasant and easygoing little girl, much like her brother. We’re all adjusting to life as a family of four, rather than three, but we’ve been incredibly lucky to have help and support from family and friends who have really eased the transition, immensely.
Also. THIS IS THE CRAZIEST TIME EVER.
People can tell you something is going to be difficult, but there’s no real way to fathom difficulty or challenge until we’re in it for ourselves. Certainly, I thought my pregnancy was hard-what, with the hip injury and its resulting pain and constant discomfort, the full time raising of and caring for a 30 lb one year old super boy and then just, you know, not even being married for two full years, and blah blah blah blah blah. BUT. This, right now, is something different. It isn’t just difficult, it’s also scary.
As a first time mom, sure, I constantly felt like I had no idea what the hell I was doing, and I felt utterly helpless in my duties and, well, sometimes in my entire being (dramatic, but true). But over time, I developed a sort of confidence, or self esteem in my life as a mother, and while the illnesses, fevers, creepy poops and occasional tantrums still freaked me out, they didn’t take me down, anymore. I knew who was boss. I knew I had the chops. I knew that, no matter what, I GOT THIS SHIT IN THE BAG.
But five weeks in to my new role as mom to two under two, recovering from a C section in the heart of a cold, wintry, clusterfucky sort of Winter, and I have to be real: I am actually scared. I don’t know. I COULD BE COMPLETELY RUINING MY CHILDREN’S LIVES.
That sounds sort of intense and overblown, and maybe it is, but HAVE YOU SPENT MORE THAN THREE HOURS WITH A 17 MONTH OLD BOY AND HIS REFLUX-Y, 5 WEEK OLD SISTER? Because, that, my friends is intense for you. This, dear ones, is what a desperate woman looks like. I patted myself on the back this morning for getting my son to preschool on time, and then I got a good look at myself: Dressed in pajamas (as usual) and flip flops in 30 degree weather. I hadn’t brushed my teeth. My hair was all kinds of akimbo. I wore my shirt inside out. I know women have been raising multiple children together for centuries, but please, please tell me: HOW?
It’s so scary it’s stupid. My ability to juggle has gone the way of my personal hygiene, which is to say that it no longer exists. My calm and peace and patience are hiding out somewhere beneath my tears and generalized exhaustion. I don’t have the energy to act like I believe I’m a warrior, or I’m all over it, or I’ve got this gig down pat. I’m authentic by default and on accident, which is another way of saying: I HAVE NOTHING UNDER CONTROL. While I suppose that’s a good thing, in one way, it leaves me feeling somewhat embarrassed or apologetic, since some part of me truly feels a sense of shame that I can’t get our whole “situation” under better wraps and sooner.
Right now, writing this, I’m getting my first real “break” in a couple of days. The baby is stirring, but she’s sort of sleeping (I’ll take it-hallelujah!), and my son is in school. Our house looks like a bomb went off, and I should shower, nap or eat a solid meal, but I’d rather write, because a part of me is hoping that in doing so, I might reclaim the mind that I am pretty sure I’ve lost or am losing. It’s true that this time is funny-it’s not meant to be taken so seriously. But then, it is serious for me because, well, being somebody for my kids is the most important thing I am up to, and believe me when I tell you that being at all, these days, is much harder than I ever imagined it would be.
I know this is time for truly taking the tiniest of baby steps, but in my heart, it hurts to move so slowly. Somewhere, beneath the spit up, the missed naps, the cranky toddler, the hungry infant, the tired husband, the dirty dishes, the stains in the carpet, the red in my eyes and the long days and nights, I know that we’re all “doing this” and we’re “getting through it.” I know that we are lucky to have one another and that we won’t always be in this tender, vulnerable, skunky place. I know that my children will grow and that someday, I’ll miss this time. But for now, I’m pooped. Run down. Strung out. In love like crazy. AND PRAYING LIKE HELL WE ALL MAKE IT OUT OF HERE ALIVE.
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