Thoughts of T42

Travels with E... into the kitchen

I thought I didn't like the swings, but I do!

But actually, my most favorite thing at the playground
is the park bench. Sitting or standing (which I love
to do, at six months) are both great.

Don't get excited.

I am nowhere ready to start trying for number two.

Lordy, am I so not ready.

But I sure do think about it a lot.

Mostly in terror stricken sort of ways.

Right now I'm fixated on pregnancy.

How could I ever endure that again?

The agony and the ecstasy, the highs and lows.

Waiting for the first beta... and the second beta... and then to see the heartbeat... and then to see the nuchal scan... and the anatomy scan... and to pass the point of viability... and then to worry that the baby would come to late, and my sister would miss it... so very many fears.

Physically, I had a pretty easy pregnancy, all things considered. I was nauseous for weeks 7-11, if memory serves, and that was it. I never vomited.

I was completely exhausted, pretty much through the entire first and second trimesters... but I now know that that was due to undiagnosed anemia... if I had that again, I would ask for a blood test much, much sooner.

The fatigue of the first trimester. Napping every evening after work. And spending most of the evening after that, flat on my back on the sofa, researching baby products with the laptop balanced on my hip bones.

I remember how tired I got just from the subway ride to work, but mostly those stupid stairs up to the subway, ever day on my way to work. Leaving me exhausted before I even arrived at my job. And I stopped work at thirty-five weeks, because I hit 35 weeks at the end of June, and I don't work summers. How on earth could I have (will I) possibly work(ed) full time until I was due???

And then there's the thought that I would have to go through labor again.

Oh god.

I've made my peace, really and truly, with my birth experience. It doesn't haunt me anymore. I don't actually care about it anymore. It doesn't matter. It's like dental work. It sucked, but now it's over. Life goes on.

However.

The thought of going through it again?

Fills me with terror. I can tell you right now that I would be a solid bundle of nerves. Petrified. Like a block of wood.

I already know that as a result, I will have to do some sort of psychological work, either before I get pregnant, or early in a pregnancy. To somehow process what happened to me. Even though, really, nothing happened. But I can tell you this. If I had to have a baby tomorrow... I couldn't. I flat couldn't. And I don't really have any clue why I'm so traumatized. The emotional content that filled my brain is gone, leaving blankness... and dark scars. and this knowledge that I am in no shape to do it again. For now. But given that I literally don't have any thoughts about what was so scarring... and not feeling traumatized in the present... it's hard to understand.

Isn't this weird? I've gone back to being my lighthearted self.... with baggage that I can't quite locate.

Anyway, so there's that.

And then there's the small matter of parenting an infant... AND Calliope.

Calliope the toddler.

What a concept. I'm not ready yet to let go of her own precious infancy. She is so sweet, so delighted to see me each morning when I appear by her crib. She dove headlong into slices of cheese I held for her this evening. She fell asleep nursing tonight, a rare occurence in her life. Even in the newborn period, we didn't nurse to sleep. It's so sweet to see her downy head nestled peacefully against my breast.

I remind myself that even if I have another baby, I will never again have the opportunity to treasure this period like I do. And so, to make the most of every moment.

Which is why I pulled her bundled, wailing self from her crib and into my bed last night (at 10:45 pm... a new record for her! less than four hours after going to bed she was hungry again!)

Anyway, I can't really imagine doing it again. I think I would be tired for the rest of my life.

And I hate being tired. It makes me feel like I am not doing justice to life. To be half present, wishing it were bedtime or at the very least, that I could lie down... that's no way to live. Of course we all have days like that, but I don't want my daily existence to be this.

This post doesn't really have a neat conclusion.

I think I would like to have another child. Someday. But I cannot, for the life of me, imagine having enough energy to manage it.

Of course, I'm tired tonight from last night's difficult sleep. Hopefully Calliope will have an easier night tonight and I will be more optimistic in the morning.