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