So what can I say, besides long time, no see, because time has become a precious commodity and my thoughts feel scattered all over the place, irrelevant or just boring. Most of the time I worry about Madeleine’s sleeping pattern, get annoyed at the fact that she’s discovering her voice-with sheer shrieking all day as a result- and wonder if I’ll ever get the feeling of being myself back. But today we’re celebrating the nothing-less-of-a-miracle called Madde and I’ll be rewarding myself with the long overdue personal space by going out for drinks with a couple of girl friends. (Bring it on, bitches!)
I’ve been meaning to write a stripped down honest review of motherhood for so long, I don’t even know where to start. For 5 months now I’ve been deliriously happy, tired as f*, angry as never before, irrational, apprehensive, anxiety-ridden, disengaged in the world and hateful- towards corona, people who don’t give a damn about my pram, scooters and men, in general.
I’ll start with my body. Good old body that has served me for 40 years and used to do a pretty good job. Suddenly it didn’t feel like mine any more. For the longest time, it was like living in a nightmare. Although I’d only gained 8-9 kg during pregnancy, which I lost right away, the irregular meals and the corona baking transformed my belly into a snail-looking flab. I was so disgusted every time I took a shower, I started eating cottage cheese for breakfast and cutting down on the 10 pm ice-cream bowl. Slowly (and painfully haha), I’m starting to resemble myself again. A pale version of myself, but still.
Then you have the boobs! First, you can’t believe your luck, when the milk is filling them, you look like Pamela Anderson before she removed her silicon. Then, after only one week of trying to breastfeed, they started looking like empty shells. Not to mention they were constantly leaking and they hurt so bad I felt like cutting them off altogether. The doctor didn’t give me medicine and so I had to tie them up with a scarf and I’d sleep like that for 2 weeks. I would stare at them in the mirror, sickened and feeling like covering them up. All of a sudden I was 17 again, powerless and shamed by my own body. Somehow, they seem to have mended themselves, too, in the course of these months. Phew! (I was seriously considering a lift.)
But the worst humiliation was peeing myself every time I sneezed (I still do!), laughed or even turned on the tap. A couple of times it was so bad F fetched a wet wipe and cleaned me up. One night I was walking Sam, I saw a rat and got so startled I peed my pants. Really peed, not just a little. I came home wet and shameful and hid in the bathroom until I convinced myself it’s not my fault.
And that’s just the body. The lack of sleep is an altogether new story. Simply excruciating. Although you somehow get by, not so much by getting used to it, but rather by knowing you don’t have a choice and that it’s not going to last forever, sleep deprivation makes you ruthless. I could scream to people all day long- bus drivers for not caring to lower the floor, so I can get on board with the pram, F for not choosing his words carefully, older ladies for telling me how much they enjoyed being at home with their babies and making me feel like a horrible person because I sometimes get bored. Because let’s face it- if you’ve been your own person for 40 years, are used to napping during day time just because you can, both your work and your social life are that of a busy bee, staying at home with a baby and tending to its needs all day long can be challenging. First, the change is pretty drastic: Madeleine’s first two months were those of a monkey baby, she only wanted to be on top of me. She slept on my chest and my belly, I carried her around in a baby wrap and the minute I put her down she’d wake up screaming. I could barely shower, I went to the loo with her in the baby wrap, I cooked with her sleeping in the baby wrap, I walked Sam with her in the baby wrap. At 6-7 pm I would wait for F to come back from work so eagerly that, when she didn’t want to be held by him, I’d burst into tears. On a couple of occasions, I threw myself on the floor and sobbed. He was so puzzled that instead of giving me a hug, he started poking me- hey, what’s up with the attitude?
At the other end of the scales, she’s the sweetest thing you’ll ever see. She gives purpose to our life and now we know what we’d be missing if we didn’t have her. She wakes up smiling and although it’s wayyyy too early (somewhere between 4 and 6!), she brightens up our day. When she takes my face in her tiny hands, my fear melts and so does my pain. I still can’t get over the fact that I’m somebody’s mom and that she needs me and loves me more than anyone else in the world. It’s such a blessing. And she’s such a happy baby. No colic, no colds, no fuss.
We’re reading books and we’re singing songs and all the things I thought would be boring, until it’s about her and it’s not boring anymore. Now she turns from her back to her stomach and back and she sometimes screams for help because she rolled on a toy or her own hand. So I sit myself on a sheep’s skin beside her mat and I tend to her needs from there.
As for the personal space, she goes to bed somewhere between 6 and 8pm. So until we fall asleep on the couch, there’s “plenty” of time to gather oneself. I usually don’t know what to do first- cook, eat, have a long shower, have a beer, water the plants, be. When we have Sam, I walk him and ring my mom. When we don’t, I read a couple of pages. Most days I want to do so much I end up “wasting my time texting”.
Almost 10:30 am, need to get ready to hit the city, otherwise we’ll drive each other nuts at home. You see, when I walk her in the pram, she sleeps most of the time! Win-win!
I’ll be back with more soon!