Almost every night, I go through a terribly emotional hour. Giving Lea her bath, dressing her in her pj's, reading a story, singing songs, and putting her to bed with "everybody" (her four most prized stuffed animals) is a special tradition that we've been doing ever since we started trying to enforce a regular bedtime, 20 or so months ago. She welcomes bedtime for the most part; she is sweet-natured and sleepy and happily requests the songs she wants to sing. Sometimes she will pull one of our faces very close to hers for the duration of a song, and then give a little squeeze before letting go. She is at her most adorable and easy to cherish at those moments. So lately, of course, I find myself feeling more than a little bit sentimental about the way her life is about to change, and the fact that many of our traditions, and nearly all the totally-Lea-focused time, is going to have to slip to the back burner for a while.
But then there's the rest of the hour. Once Lea's in bed and I immediately collapse on the couch, trying to will myself to do yoga before drifting towards comatose, I tend to suddenly think: hey, I'm way pregnant here. Wow. So much of the day finds me terribly distracted by life and unable to fixate on pregnancy the way I did when Lea was about to arrive. But the thing is, I freaking love this part of pregnancy, and have almost no complaints about it. In fact, there are times when I think I could happily spend the rest of my life about 37 weeks along. (Those inclined to hate me for that, please contrast this with the first half, when I am puking many many times a day.) I have a few physical discomforts, but for the most part I find the wiggling baby, the intense Braxton Hicks contractions, even the hugeness of my belly to be more exhilarating than anything. There are times when I feel the baby moving, and I could swear that I have never not been pregnant and will always be pregnant; it feels so normal, so natural, so much a part of my existence-- how could it be temporary?
But it is, of course. And although we both have times when we could see doing this again, there are a million practical reasons to stop at two, and in all likelihood, this will be the last pregnancy for me. Reminding myself of this fact was actually a source of huge relief all last summer, I have to remember. But right now, it's kind of devastating. Maybe it's way too biologically-deterministic of me to think this way, and maybe someday I'll roll my eyes at the fact that I ever even entertained the thought, but I just feel so complete when I'm in child-bearing mode-- preparing to birth and nurse and nurture a baby-- it's hard to imagine anything ever being so personally fulfilling.
Maybe-- no, certainly-- that's why I want to be a midwife. (Note to self: get career counseling. Find out if a career in health care is even close to a good match for my aptitudes.)
Anyway, that's what makes the second half of the hour so fraught with a million different emotions. I want to celebrate this pregnancy and relish every moment of what makes having an on-the-brink-of-birth little person grooving around in there so beautiful. But that's hard to do, and I'm so notoriously bad about documenting things (exhibit A: this blog), I can virtually guarantee that on some hormonal post-partum day in the near future I'm going to be wailing about how I have no pregnancy journal and not enough pictures of me pregnant, and I didn't let myself enjoy it enough, and I'll never get to do it again, and and and.
I had moments like that after Lea was born, and I have to remember the wise words of a friend of mine who gently reminded me that having little in the way of documentation of that short chapter of my transition to motherhood did not mean that it hadn't happened, that it hadn't mattered or been just as special as if I'd made a whole leather-bound book about it. It was precious to me and it is again, and if the best I can do is one blog entry and a few photos, that doesn't matter, because I know I'll remember this, and I'll remember my firstborn kissing my belly and poking on my "baby button" to try to get her little sibling to come out. I probably won't always remember the physical sensation of a Braxton Hicks (like getting the wind knocked out of me, kind of, but in a good way, if that makes any sense), or what it feels like when the baby has hiccups (well, it feels like my cervix has hiccups, I guess), but that's ok too. By the time those memories have faded entirely, I'll have two kids on the "outside" doing way more fun and funny and impressive things, things that I won't be the only one to get to celebrate. I can get excited about that.
4 comments:
Great post. It reminds me of something I've been sort of aware of, but not personally, for a while now: women (and society, I guess) really do associate their womanhood with their uteruses. I talk to 80-year-old women whose uteruses are falling out of their vaginas and it could be easily fixed with a hysterectomy, but they are so reluctant to have one because they really feel their uterus is the source of their femaleness. I've never understood that -- if you ask me, I'd say I'd be more devastated at the thought of a double radical mastectomy at age 60 than at that of a benign hysterectomy, but then, I've never been pregnant. And even though you didn't talk about that AT ALL, I can see, through your words, where those patients are coming from -- it's a reminder, I suppose, of that completely personally fulfilling time in their lives, and how could they just get rid of it so easily?
Love your writing. And get thee to a career counselor already, although my personal opinion is you don't need to -- your aptitudes are totally matched!
And you know, there's something else I left out that might shed even more light on what those women are feeling. This is probably going to sound insane, but: after Lea's birth, there was a moment almost every single night before I fell asleep when I would sort of flash back to the physical sensation of pushing her out. Not the pain, at all-- just the totally unreal and incomparable feeling of those last few pushes when I knew she was actually coming out. It didn't matter what I'd been thinking about-- what to cook for dinner the next night, whatever-- but at some point in half-consciousness I would flash to that moment. Like even though my brain wasn't necessarily remembering it, my uterus did.
This stopped happening when I got pregnant again. Really strange.
I so love the look on Lea's face! And I understand your desire to freeze this moment in time when you're enjoying the daily developments of her personality and intellect. It's hard to believe that you can muster up the energy to give as much to a second child, especially when one is very needy in one way and the other is equally needy in another.
But, the thing is, as tired and as pulled in several directions as you will feel, you and Brian will discover an unlimited reservoir of resources that will allow you to address both of their needs.
Just don't forget to address your OWN needs.
As you can see, I had gotten way behind checking for new posts on the blog - my loss!!!!! Your writing touches me deeply, because I can so easily identify with your wrods and feelings. Many thanks for helping me reclaim the goodness of those times in my own life, and for the special kinship I feel with you!
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