The toast of yesterday morning
As a healthy wound bleeds cleanly, free flowing, the zombie state of new mamahood is the way it's supposed to be. Awestruck but sleep-deprived, unkempt, squinting at the rest of the world for its sparkling unencumbrance. Shuffling along uneventfully towards contentedness. All along wondering, will I ever be just a woman again? Will I ever not smell of sour milk?
Above and beyond the mandatory shuffling, there’s a heavy sort of solemnness pressing down, smothering the me I'd otherwise expect to return to. After all this, I don’t even know if she'll exist anymore. Not as she was.
I wish I could stop time-travelling. The last time I saw this person, I wasn’t even pregnant yet. Or in this picture, I was a few days pregnant but didn’t know it. Or the last time I was here, I was pregnant, and the boys were whole and safe. None of this had happened yet, and I was still just myself.
It makes my stomach turn with longing, this unrelenting wistfulness.
Every morning I wake steeped in forgetful sleep, a gift for the first ten seconds before opening my eyes. Then the weight of the boys and their uncertain future presses down on me and I think dammit, it’s done, and it’s true.
Every new mom doubts that she'll ever resurface from the hibernation. That she'll ever regain the time or self-acceptance to relish in herself. Deliciously impractical clothes (or anything not smeared with offspring snot). Girly shoes, wine, yoga. Unhurried conversations. Spring-in-your-step stuff. Any food other than that which is formed into bite-sized crocodiles.
Waiting to see where Liam lands on 'The Spectrum' — and to see that Ben is clear of it, simply by virtue of being a preemie — already exhausts us both. The pursuit of past-life sparkle is hopelessly distant, shallow in comparison to what's at stake.
But that doesn't stop me wanting it. To enjoy life again without the fresh sting of feeling betrayed by it.
++++++++++++
Today I walked into Liam and Ben's new home, the transitional care nursery, to find the nurse on break.
They’ve graduated not because their release is imminent, but because they’ve been upgraded from 'The #1 and #2 Sickest and Smallest Babies East of Toronto' to 'Very Small But Somewhat Less Complicated Babies Who Are No Longer Dire Enough To Require a $65,000 Bed In Critical Care'.
Progress.
Dropped my bag in the cubby, peered and whispered at both of them in greeting. Liam welcomed me with a fruitful grunt. Looked over both shoulders, wondering: is it okay if I just go ahead and change his diaper?
I feel like I'm shoplifting. Opening the greenhouse wall and taking liberties without asking permission, without a guide.
I want to get it right, this balance between mama and nurses. It's my baby, but it's their turf. I respect their work immensely, their sheparding of our mechanical wombs. I hear them when they think they're unobserved, hands through the portholes, working deftly while cooing at someone else’s tiny daughter or son. Oh! You little scrapper you. There you go, shoosh, shoosh. Goodness gracious, that’s some set of lungs. You’ll be full of beans, won’t you? Here now mister man, let’s get you all nested.
Meanwhile, I'm a bull in a china shop. I can never find the wipes and get tangled up in the wires and can only flip them back-to-front, not front-to-back. But I'm getting there. Today, all three of us strapped together skin-to-skin like kangaroos, Liam’s deep sleep stalled into several apneas, momentary lapses in which he forgets to breathe.
The alarms go off and I look up, assessing his heart rate on the monitors. I wait a moment, see if he'll come back on his own. Tap my fingers on his cheek, rub his back. By the time the nurse pokes her head around the curtain, all is well.
Satisfaction.
++++++++++++
Justin: Would you like some toast with your butter?
Kate: Hardy har.
Justin: I hope you don't put that much butter on anything Evan eats. His face will start beading in the rain like a freshly weather-treated windshield.
Kate: <hairy eyeball>
Justin: It looks like the Exxon Valdez collided with your toast.
Kate: <sigh>
It's moments like these that make me feel like things may get back to normal around here someday. You'd never heckle someone in the midst of lasting melancholy.
Especially before breakfast.
sweetsalty kate
32 Comments
Reader Comments (32)
But to be you *must* be tiring. I, personally, don't handle change or major life-stress with much ease. I often feel as though I am under water amidst it all; post-partum, for me, with my first boy, was extremely hard and I was wrought with depression. This, of course, does not parallel your experience at all. But, at the time, I felt as though I wanted my old life back and I couldn't imagine ever having a sliver of it exist again. But here I am now, 3.5 years later and my life is wholly different, I am very different in many ways, the depression is a fragment of who I am, but I am so much stronger for it and have found a better place to 'be' in my, our, life. And, amazingly, there is now much of what I was and had before - there is peace and time for writing, wine, working out, and evenings outside, fire-side, under the moon. I resurfaced, and you will too.
All of this pain and anxiety will be in the past one day. Life will be as it's meant to; for now, you must continue to go through this gammut of feelings and just 'be.' There is no right or wrong by you. You're doing everything perfectly, and your boys sound like they are thriving. This card you all were dealt has not been what you expected or hoped for, nor has it been easy in any way, but your strength is pulling it all together like a perfect wool sweater. You are awesome. Continued prayers to you and yours from WI, USA *
We continue to read, to cry, to wait for news, and to share just a tiny bit of this journey with you. Hold on. We're all with you.
Remember, one day at a time.Sending you peace,Marie
The only way to get to the other side is to trudge through it, as long, and agonizing, and torturous, and frustrating, and at some point so beyond ridiculous that it ends up making you laugh, just a little. There will be another side to get to, but I don't think you'll ever be that same person. And you shouldn't be. What we become is always more than what we were. You're still all that, but so much more, for having gone through all that you are going through. We're not promised an easy, simple, carefree existence. Who knows, maybe we're put here on the planet to learn things about human nature, and love, and passion, and caring, and dealing with adversity. Overcoming, dealing with, and thriving amidst all this hard stuff is the purpose for even being here in the first place. You'll have enjoyment again, frivolity, girly shoes...all that.
I hate being trite, but no matter what I have been through, I always have one phrase that pings around in my mind, which continues to give me strength. "That which doesn't kill us makes us stronger". And I've always taken that as a personal challenge. :-)
Love and e-support to you from Texas!Trasi
We had preemie twin boys, too. Nothing so bad as your experience thank god, but we had/have our ups and downs.
Even in the day to day, we find we are blessed with this fantastic teeter-totter of stability. On my down days, he can make a joke and support me. When he is low, I find super human strength to do it all myself so he can walk away for a little while.
With all that is taken away, I think God (the balance of nature, whatever you want to call it) gives us that. Looks like you guys will have that too.
I wish you that.
my prayers continue for you all, kate. prayers that the all-encompassing love of our sweater-wearing god will bear you up as you continue on your journey with all of your boys, and will give you hope when you are deep in the valley, and rejoice with you in the fun of the daily little things. peace for your heart, kate, and progress for your little wonderboys.
You're right about the universality of the new parent thing. If it was just some crazy project, some time-consuming sleep-depriving all-nighter by choice thing, that would be enough. But it's the weighty responsibility. And the flood of hormones. Not to mention the loss of control (extended mix).
And your experience is, no doubt whatsoever, harder. Because it seems that you already know the depth of all of the above, even though they are still so new.
Truly beautiful writing.
I think you captured the essence of mamahood, complicated or otherwise: the looking back, and the tentative joy, and knowing that there are no assurances that everything will turn out well, but hoping for them anyway.
Wishing you all the best, and much teasing from all your boys.
It's hard to have the normal new momma thoughts in all this isn't it?
But have them anyway-you need them.
I'm glad they graduated. :) I showed my husband Ben and Liam and he thought they were lovely. He loves babies.
You sound good. Like you are healing already.
You amaze me with your strength and articulation and lyricism through this dark time.
And that you took time to comment on my utterly stupid and selfish post yesterday shamed me.
Wishing you peace, friend, and girly shoes, too. I hope you can have both.
{still praying for the twins ...}
Your words and photos make me know that you will find a way back to your old happy self. You have managed to wrench beauty out of a situation where the “institutional grey” can take over. I think this is who you are and everyone around you thrives from your inner light. Your old happy self will live inside a new person who has seen tragedy and dealt with one of the most difficult situations a person can endure. This will only make you stronger and more compassionate.
Sending love and positive thoughts from Austin.
My husband and I discuss what NICU stuff means, because I wonder out loud about you. He asked if no new update meant bad news. I told him about the length of time they have to be there, and how no news is usually good news because it means things are not going backwards. Steps forward are small, but in the run of things, oh so good. Many your beautiful family get lots of steps forward.
I hope you and all your boys have a good week! Love from North Dakota.
It happened to me; it can happen to you, too.
I'm glad to hear the boys moved on up. I hope you and your family have a deliciously butter-soaked week. (Yum!)
You'll get there. So will they. You are all getting along, through the course of it all.
They say that being a mother is like wearing your heart on the outside of your body. Now, you have three others' to worry about. You will never be exactly as you were before, nor would you want to.
The Yoga and girly shoes are nothing compared to the importance of what you're doing right now. And, by the time you get to the place where you can just think about yourself with reckless abandon, it will be bittersweet as well.
I can still smell the sour milk odor that came from me for what seemed like FOREVER. But, it seems like such a long time ago now. I have adjusted. Just when I do, the kids' need for me changes.
In ten years we will still be faithfully reading your blog and you will be complaining about the one who refuses to do his homework and the one who never gets his socks into the laundry basket! Aahh...the perils of having THREE teenaged boys in one house!
eventually, it ends. in the meantime, eat as much butter as you want. :)
i'm glad they've graduated.
Dear Kate,
I have a very old cat named Tom. (You're wondering, where is THIS going?) Well, when I inherited him from my mother-in-law over ten years ago, I was told he wouldn't last long because he had a serious heart murmur. However, like the 19-yr. old dog our kids grew up with, he gets quality food, yearly teeth cleaning, as much outdoor time as he wants and love. Lots of it.I recently took Tom for his annual checkup to see our wonderful Chester Basin vet who normally solemnly lists the usual life-threatening heart and kidney failure problems indicated each year by the blood test and physical examination. This time, he informed us, with a thoughtful grin that there was another serious illness. His body language momentarily puzzled me. He added, "Tom's got thyroid cancer; I can feel the lump. Since he has a hyper-thyroid condition, his heart is beating faster. "Listen to it!", as he excitedly handed the stethascope to us and we heard what sounded like a rapid sixties disco beat with periodic pauses. Isn't that remarkable for an animal at rest? He added, "I would take out his thyroid but because this new condition has caused his metabolism to speed up, he is eating and drinking more, which is flushing out his kidneys better and they have not deteriorated that much." Still with a grin he explained, "Because of any one of these major problems, he should not be alive. "Tom is teaching us; telling us something". Heart failure? I can handle that! Kidney failure? I can handle that! Thyroid cancer? I can handle that! He was still shaking his head and chuckling as we left.
Each night on cue, before we fall asleep, Tom jumps up on the bed, slowly, deliberately, moving towards us; looking us in the eye and touching his nose to Dave's, then to mine; cuddling up; grooming his still beautiful coat and purring till his heart rate slows down and ribs no longer vibrate. I drift off to sleep and smile. Tom is a tinkerer too.
But those are the only bad things. I loved the smell of the hand sanitizer, because I associated it with being with him. I loved the nurse who showed me to put the clean diaper under him before I started because he was a pooper not a spitter. I loved the supervising nurse who not only sat with me as I rocked him and taught me the ways to burp a baby with low muscle tone, but also told me stories of my OB/Gyn doc who she had known for over 20 years. I loved that the nurses were happy to see me and help me in any way. They showed me my place on the team. What I learned from them helped me so much in the next 4 hospital stays. I just tell the nurses now up front that I'll need help with diapers while the tubes and wires are in, and that I have a pretty good idea of which monitor alarms to worry about and which not to, so I won't buzz them for nothing.
I don't want to be full of advice because who needs that? But I feel like I should share what helped me. Maybe it will help you too, who knows? I would just tell the nurse exactly what you wrote about not wanting to step on toes, but wanting to be right there in it and doing for your boys. Most likely they are just wondering the opposite: how much can you handle and how much should they do for you?
Prayers & hugs from CA.
That was probably one of the most intense memories of my life, and it was something I told myself even on the hardest days to keep going. I hope it gives you a little bit of comfort...