Good Intentions

A few "quiet" moments. Nora, you're "reading" aloud to yourself, apparently very amused by a picture of a "haccoon" you discovered, and songs are playing because you love music. Bip (our "Baby in Progress") you are being very still and peaceful, and apparently, are the size of an avocado and working on growing toenails, an important task that I'm sure you're giving your full attention.

And we are busy getting ready for your arrival! Nora, when you were coming, the house wasn't at all baby-ready, so there was so much to do - finish the kitchen, remodel the bathroom (I remember crying and thinking there was no way I could put a sweet little baby in our old, grungy, stained tub), getting your room ready, and just generally doing all the things that we wouldn't have a chance to do for years after you arrived. Now, it's more about putting the finishing touches on projects, tidying up all the things we've not been able to keep up with, and just generally getting ready to descend into the black hole that is the first few months with a new baby.

I also want to write to you both openly about the struggles I had postpartum the last time. It was, in retrospect, a terrible time in every other way. Your grandmother had just passed away and I missed her so much, the house was in uproar with both bathroom and kitchen in progress (and things from both packed in tubs that wouldn't be completely unpacked for almost another year) so everywhere I looked was chaos, our sweet cat Elvis was in the process of dying by inches in the bathroom and I couldn't help him, and your daddy was immersed in one of the biggest, most important projects he'd ever had with the exhibition and, after years of doing all our work together, I couldn't help him either. And I was all alone. It was a very lonely time, because he was so busy, we didn't have many friends here who weren't busy with their own lives, and we didn't really have any visitors. When Nora was a week old, Daddy went back to work and that was it. Our friend Chelsea brought a meal once, your grandfathers, aunts and uncles all visited once, and otherwise, for more than the first six months, it was just the two of us so much of the time. Some days, Daddy left early and got back late and I didn't eat all day, because I was nursing so much and just so tired or too sad to take care of myself. Some nights, I had panic attacks at the thought of another day all alone, of all that would be required of me and of the thought of how little I was convinced I had to offer.

This time, I want to make sure that I don't scar any of us any further. I was angry and scared and alone and I cried a lot. I even got to the point where I was beginning to see things and to think that maybe it would be better for you, Nora, if you'd gotten another mama. But, and this is the most important part, YOU were what sustained me. I know for many women (and my heart breaks for them), they can't connect with their babies, making them feel even worse, but for me, you were my tiny life preserver and I just held as tightly to you as I could. Knowing what it meant not to have a mother made me determined to continue being your mother, even if I vanished in the effort, which I was afraid of sometimes, but you got me through.

But I think we can do better this time, so we're making a better plan. We hope to have house help, so things will be tidy and Daddy will be free to help more and to keep things as consistent for Nora as possible while Bip needs to eat all the time. We've set aside some money to make sure that we can easily just spend the money on takeout as well, so that we're all eating well and not worrying about finances. I'll keep seeing Peg, who helped me back on my feet the last time, and we're working with different midwives this time, where there's a more comprehensive, holistic view of care - if I can take better care of me, I can, I hope, take better care of both of you. And, of course, Daddy hopes to be able to take more time off, to work from home occasionally, and to just be around while we find our feet.

I hesitated to write honestly of this for you both. I don't anticipate you reading these things for many years, and I'd hate for either one of you to feel responsible or guilty or even afraid of having your own children because of this. But I want to tell you the truth and, if I'm not with you for some reason, I want you to know that struggling with a new baby isn't something that makes you abnormal, at least any more than your mama is. :) It was hard for me, and I don't think I've ever felt more alone, so much so that I tear up a little just writing this, thinking of how bad I feel for the me that went through that. If nothing else, Nora, I hope you'll remember that you preserved me the first time, and Bip, that we wanted you enough (more than enough) to risk a second trip to that dark place. I want you both to know that bad things happen, even sometimes as good things are happening too, and that what makes us better people is that we persevere, that we walk through dark places for the people we love (and because that love and their love for us make it possible), and we do our best to learn from that going forward and be different, stronger people. Because of losing my own mama so early, I'm always afraid of leaving you both before you're "ready," (there is, by the way, no "ready" for being without your mother), but if all I teach you is this, I know you'll manage without me.

And now, I'm going to go enjoy some of that joyful mothering time. Nora, you are munching pretzels and itching for me to come read a huge stack of books to you (and reciting part of an alphabet book!), and Bip, while I can't feel you kicking yet, I can feel the water around you swish as you wriggle, so I'm going to go cuddle up on the couch with both my babies and love you.

Love and kisses,
Mama

Window on the World

Or "Window on Your World," rather. On April 19 (which was the same day we got our second glimpse of your sister), we got to see you for the first time! On the surface, it wasn't as reflective as I'd have liked, because your sister was hustling around the waiting room, into this, into that, spinning the rolling stool, but even with all that, the first moment I saw you, everything in my heart got quiet and still, and I thought, "Ohhh, hello...." There's a wonder in seeing you that's like, well, I hope you'll not think this irreverent, because I hope you'll come to know what a beautiful book it is, but there's something in glimpsing you that's akin to Wilbur's wonder with the little spiders in Charlotte's Web, just a magical, calm, heart-stopping moment. I'm afraid you'll think that it's not new or marvelous or incredible any longer, and that's just so wrong - it's miraculous. YOU are miraculous, even now, with your tiny silent self bobbing in a dark sea. Every day, I find a few moments to just be still, to speak to you in my heart, to let you know how much we'd love you already. I can't believe how quickly the first three months have gone - the end of the first trimester is coming up in just a week or so. (Okay, ten days - I'm counting.) I've not been sick even once, and the nausea, which was so bad before, hasn't been difficult to manage at all. I've been tired though, so very, very tired. Not sleepy tired really, or not so much, but physically fatigued. My arms feel like lead in the afternoons and I think about the possibility of crawling to the kitchen. Your sister's taking it easy on me as well, for the most part, so that helps. She takes nice, long naps every afternoon, and while some days it seems like a reeeeeally long time until 2:00, she rests well and consistently, so I can have a few moments before I start work to gather myself, talk to you and rest a bit. We've been traveling a lot, which has left me tired too, but I'm resting up now, trying to feed you good food, and just generally find time each day to be your mama. So looking forward to having the job in person!

Holy Crap on a Cracker, Part Two

Well, "you" won't just mean you any longer, Nora Bean. You're about to get a sibling in seven months or so, so for this particular post, "you" is going to be the other you, the one growing just now....

"Holy crap on a cracker!" is what I thought when I found out we were expecting your sister. Somehow, and maybe it's just because it's early yet (only about nine weeks), I'm not feeling as terrified as the prospect of your arrival. I'm actually looking forward to doing all those things over again and not being so afraid while I do them! Of course, you'll be your own person and you'll not like the same things or behave the same way, but when your sister arrived, I had probably not changed four diapers in my life, had no friends I could call who had breastfed exclusively, and just generally didn't know what I was doing. Hopefully, I'll have a little better sense of what I'm doing this time around.


Your uncle will empathize with you for life, because as the second child, he swears there are no photographs of him, no stories, that he has very few baby things that weren't mine first, that his baby book is a complete blank. But I'm going to promise you something up front - I'm going to do my best to make you know that your arrival is just as special and as exciting as hers was. This will be hard for you to understand maybe, but her arrival will always be special because she was first, and that arrival was filled with fear and anxiety and expectations and anticipation, but your arrival will always be special because I knew just how much work it would entail and didn't mind at all, it will just be the anticipation and the excitement - that wasn't the case the first time around, because I had no idea what I was getting into and I spent so much time afraid and nervous. Two things can be different and still be equally wonderful - sun and rain, chocolate and mashed potatoes, books and movies - and know in your hearts that your mama loved you from the very first for being just who you were to her, just what your sister was to her: her special baby.

I've had moms tell me that they were afraid they couldn't possibly love a second child as much (of course, they quickly learn how wrong they are), but I've not had a glimmer, even a trace of that - I'm full of confidence that you will bring love into the world with you, love that I didn't know existed before your sister arrived, but that it will be a special love that's just for you. I can't tell you how much I'm excited to meet you and hold you and kiss you, to welcome discovering yet again how much more love there is in the world than we can ever possibly know until we experience it. So stay warm and cozy in there, think peaceful thoughts, and try to ignore your sister clambering all over you when she wants a story - you'll get to pay her back and eventually you'll want me to read "The Gingerbread Man" to you 900 times in a row too. Love, Mama....