one of those days
everything is making me cry today. the lady at the grocery store snipped at me when i asked if she had more chicken better-than-bouillon in the back. she wasn’t any nicer when i couldn’t find the frozen pastry crust. and the bagger left my groceries sitting on the counter and walked away, leaving me to fight with a screaming toddler and a pregnant belly to stick the groceries in the cart. i came home so distraught that i let henry watch barney. (yes, it was that bad.)
but it’s not just that household chores seem so frustratingly overwhelming. (yes, all the non-perishables from the grocery store are still sitting on the kitchen floor as i type.) it’s days like this that make me wonder if i can really manage another little one.
i’m a week away from the third trimester and it hit me that i haven’t given this pregnancy much thought. i’m only aware of this little girl as an ache or a hunger or a pang or a pinch in my bladder. i don’t lie on the couch after lunch, like i did with fetus hal, with my hand on my belly, feeling movement and imagining fingers and toes, first words. i’m just surviving. i’m just crossing off days on a calendar, just counting weeks until this is over.
i pulled out a book on labor and delivery last night. i flipped through the pages and saw a picture of an episiotomy: i spent the rest of the night trying to talk myself out of fear. i am terrified. i’m terrified of tearing, the recovery. i’m terrified of breast-feeding. of newborn cries. of sleepless nights. of henry’s reaction to a new baby. of myself.
i marvel at these women who move from one child to two to three to four joyfully, peacefully. maybe i’m just not cut out for pregnancy, but i know i wouldn’t get out of bed if henry wasn’t begging for a drink, for oatmeal. i’m tired. an all-out bodily exhaustion. my brain feels equally stretched and battered.
and then there are those moments. those briefs steps outside time where the universe seems split in two and i see for a second, just a second, the impossible beauty of motherhood, of my children, my husband. why are those moments so few? and why am i so tired and weepy in the interim?
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oh jes, i love how you put so eloquently how many (i do) mothers feel every day. the fear is totally natural, but my comforting advice is this:
(and i don’t know if i qualify for an advice giver as i only have 2 kids)
1. having two kids was, brace yourself, easier than one. i don’t know if it’s the confidence or the more relaxed state of mind, but it really was.
2. when you hit 38 weeks start brushing your nips in the shower with a soft head toothbrush. i’m telling you, nursing never hurt after that prep. didn’t get it with abby and could totally tell the difference
3. i’m ashamed at how much tv lucy watched during my sick days being pregos, but the bedrest thing, yeah, i only made it 3 days on it. it is impossible unless you have a live in nanny.
4.i can understand the delivery fears, especially after henry’s wonderful birth : ). my fear isn’t delivery, it’s having a healthy baby. a baby who’s lungs are ready to breath real air. a baby who doesn’t have to have 8 machines working so that it can live. a baby that doesn’t cost 60 grand. i definitely have reserves about #3.
5. i guess all i can say is, i understand. and i hope you have more good ‘moments’ than reality today : )
honestly, i’m still trying to adjust to having 2 kids, and my second one is already 8 months old. i admit that it was ridiculously hard at the beginning and i told myself (and my hubby) time & time again that we were NEVER doing this again and that we were permanently going to become a 2-child family. i also began to look with complete wonder and awe at moms who managed 3+ children and didn’t break a sweat. how do they get to be super-woman anyway? but now that the novelty has worn off and i’m become more accustomed to having mutliple children i think i can BEGIN to imagine having more. maybe. some day. hopefully. it helps that she’s a fairly good baby and that she’s also the MOST BEAUTIFUL THING ON THE PLANET. just keep your chin up and stick out the tough times and i promise it will be manageable and even enjoyable. good luck!!!!!
I believe in you. You will be great.
All of us, at some point, are just surviving. I think.
I for sure have been at that point. I never got out of bed till 9 or 10 when I was pregnant with Claire, and Grace would wait for an hour or two for breakfast. I would put her off and say, “Mommy needs to sleep…” I think about it now and feel terrible. But, you know, she does not remember. At all. And NOW my no longer pregnant, perma-exhausted self can get her breakfast at 5 in the morning if she wants (which she does sometimes).
This will not last long. I promise.
I have no words of advice or commiseration, because my own baby-days have not yet arrived.
But I can say, wow. You broke my heart. This is the loveliest piece of sadness/realness that I’ve read in too long.
You are brave and good and articulate. What more will baby need?
It gets so much better. I felt similar and now I am thinking okay baby you can arrive anytime. Soon is good. We can do this. I’m not sleeping anyway, so you might as well come on and we can stay up together!
I remember being surprised that Isaac was due in less than a month and feeling like I hadn’t even enjoyed pregnancy. I used to laugh at people who didn ‘t know how many weeks until the baby came - and I became one of those women. But I agree with the first comment, two kids are definitely easier than one. It turns out that a baby doesn’t take all 24 hours of the day. You’ll be great, I remember it being overwhelming and almost sad to leave our family of three phase or our lives, but once Isaac was born we were happy to let him join our club.