What I really need is a pouch. You know? The ones like the marsupial kangaroos and opossums have, in which they carry their young long after birth (because nine months in the womb wasn’t enough)? Yes, a little pouch would be awfully convenient. So would some hind legs that propel me hundreds of feet at a time. My son loves to be held. Not just held, but carried: staying stationary is usually not an option. Yes, I know they make those Ergos and Bjorns and whatnots so parents can wear their babies like a pro, but my kid also doesn’t like being restricted and I haven’t been the biggest of them either. “Hold me,” he says, by reaching his arms straight up and throwing his heavy head back, and pursing his lips together in a little pout.
“Hold me,” while I’m trying to cook dinner. “Hold me,” once we are finally sitting down to dinner (he also insists on standing in his high chair.) “Hold me,” while he’s falling asleep. “Hold me,” while he is sleeping. He will make it his mission to climb on me whenever possible. Like this morning, while I’m trying to get his sister ready for school. I try distracting him with toys – “Look! A wooden toaster, see how if you press this button it pops up?” He’s interested, but only while I’m doing it with him, and for about 30 seconds more before he tries to climb on my back again. “Look, an old make-up compact! Look, a pig-shaped teething ring! Wouldn’t you love to chew on this instead of my shoulder?” I end up putting him in his crib so I can finish my daughter’s hair. I give him a xylophone – which generally he’s actually pretty good at, for a baby – but he’s not interested now.
When her braids are done, I pull him out of his crib and proceed attempts to make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He clings to my ankles and pulls at my pants. “Look! An empty roll of paper towels!” 15 seconds. “Look, the whole drawer full of Tupperware!” I don’t care if he pulls everything out, as long as I can accomplish the task at hand, making more messes that I won’t have time to pick up later. Add to the mountain of laundry that is already screaming from the closet.
Motherhood is such a funny mix of wanting to savor the moments while they are small, while also yearning for the time when they need you a little less.
My son turned one last week, and like clockwork, started walking just before his birthday. A friend noticed how much more he’s “talking” this week, even from the last. My sweet boy started rolling at 4 months, crawling at 6, and he plays catch better than my four year old daughter. His first word, the one that he uses consistently with understanding, is “ball,” with a little less emphasis on the L sounds. All the signs of him growing up are there, and while a lot has changed in this year, a lot also hasn’t in terms of his dependency on me.
My daughter, who while less physically inclined, was very intellectual and speaks very clearly beyond her years, was almost weaned by ten months and didn’t nurse past a year and half. She ate almost everything and I never recall having to deny her the comfort of my body; it just became less of a need and eventually was forgotten. My son however, is less advanced with his foods. He bade well when I introduced homemade purees of sweet potatoes, spinach and pears. But since he began teething, he can’t chew most foods and, has less interest. Apart from breastmilk, he eats mostly processed gluten products like crackers and puffs and breads. He nurses around the clock. I’ve never had much of a schedule with him. He will nurse and it’s often like a reset button. If he’s in a sad mood and whining a lot, I will offer it, because maybe he’s hungry? He might sit there for a few minutes or seconds before he perks up smiling, like an adult after their morning coffee fix.
Sebastian came into the world a week and a half before his due date, but in perfect time. He was due the first week of March, but all along we wanted a February birthday for him, since March is already full of birthdays including mine. Although I had a few contractions the night prior, my labor didn’t start until the morning, after a blessed night’s rest, (the last uninterrupted one I can remember having). My husband and I debated whether he should go to work, as I lie there with a few inklings of contractions, trying to remember what this felt like last time. After a little breakfast and a bath, it was apparent he shouldn’t go teach, as my contractions were close together. My daughter, who had been sleeping until now, emerged sleepy-eyed from her bedroom ,as I was hunched over on the dining room floor on my hands and knees. “Mom, remember to breath! Smell the flower...blow out the candle,” she reminded me of an inhale-exhale exercise we do together sometimes to calm down.
My neighbor came to watch Lucca for the day, and she spent the night at a friend’s house that evening, both of which would’ve been more difficult had he chosen to come in the middle of the night or the week. We went to the same hospital my daughter was born at four years prior, and by great luck of the draw, had the same doctor and nursing staff who were there for my daughter’s birth. He was born six hours later on Friday, also convenient as my husband was home for the weekend.
The first few weeks after giving birth are some of the most cherished moments for me. In my life, there has been nothing else like having just brought a human being into the world, and being tasked with the role of keeping him alive. Regardless of birthing-method, a woman’s body has gone through so much in labor and delivery, that she has no choice but to slow down, rest, and care for herself and the new life that needs her.
As a professional ballet dancer who is used to being very physically active, I found this time very centering. The whole world fades away, if you let it, and never has it felt more right to retreat and withdraw into the security of one’s own home as in those first few days after having a baby.
Especially around this time last year, the world was in such an unhappy place, and yet, new life was being born. New hope, and that is where I wanted to focus my energies. Sometimes, the best we can do is meet the needs of the people right in front of us, the ones I have been given-my husband, my children, my neighbors...
After my first baby, third-degree tearing made walking and sitting for the first month afterwards surprisingly difficult. Things were not as drastic with my son, but the body still felt incredibly vulnerable postpartum. Driving (and riding) in the car feels so dangerous. Walking into the drugstore the day after to get a prescription and a few other items was overwhelming. The single basket was heavier than I could carry, and the way people rushed around me felt unnatural as I moved along at a snail’s pace.
I took life by the minute and hour. Feed the baby, rest when you can, feed yourself. But the most basic needs like getting yourself a glass of water became focused. Even going to the bathroom and sitting up require a great effort, and at times, a lot of help.
For the first few months, my son wouldn’t fall asleep unless he was on or at least in contact with one of us. While my daughter still woke up to nurse multiple times, she would fall back asleep and let us put her in her own cradle. My son on the other hand, would sleep all day-like newborns do-and have this marathon from 9 pm-1am where he was awake. He would fake us out like he was going to be asleep, finally conck out for the night, but as soon as we put him down or as soon as we were in our own bed ready to turn out the light, he was up again. “Just kidding! Fooled you!” (Couldn’t he have let us know while I was still standing at least, BEFORE I was all tucked in and ready to settle down for the night? Of course not.) Never have I felt so tired.
He sleeps in his own crib now, sharing a room with his sister, but still wakes up several times a night. When friends of ours had their first baby a few months later, I looked forward to welcoming more members to the foggy existence, sharing empathetic stories of how tired we were and offering encouraging words like “How are you doing? Not sleeping? Me too! It will get better...” Nope. Our friend’s babies sleep like champs in 12 hour increments (WITHOUT training or whatever you call it). I laugh when I see adults without children complain about 6 hours of sleep like that wasn’t enough. What I would DO for six hours! What luxury.
I’m still finding the rhythm of having two kids. Even with my first in preschool five mornings a week, there still never feels like a moment where there’s a “break.” My son naps twice a day, and I am always at odds with how best to use that time. Should I rest, clean, read? Do I put my house back in order or try to put myself back in order? There is always so much to do.
My first baby is going off to kindergarten this fall which I can’t believe. As many say, the days (and for now, the nights) are so so long, but the years are short.
Caring for children requires so much energy and self sacrifice. But I would do it all again. Some people enjoy infants less than others, some people say “Oh, they are really becoming a person now” and become more fun around six months of age. For me, I marvel at the beauty of the first year and first months, when a child can do nothing for himself. How his needs are the most basic, and yet the deepest needs for all of us, to be loved and comforted and heard, and noticed. To have others applaud our accomplishments, as a mother does when her baby rolls over for the first time, or babbles a word somewhat resembling English. Rather than be annoyed and frustrated by the constant attention my son requires, I want to embrace every time he says, “hold me,” because really, what else could me more important right now, than to give a mother’s love, and sustenance, to another human being who is asking for it, and from me, as his favorite: the only one who can.
I Loved Her First:http://coffeecreme.tumblr.com/post/148434882008/i-loved-her-first
In the blink of little eyes: http://coffeecreme.tumblr.com/post/61442793977/in-the-blink-of-little-eyes
