I want to write, but I can't write about dragons right now. Or amateur sleuths. Or ghosts. Or star-crossed lovers. Or any of the open fiction projects I have a file for on my desktop. Why? Because less than four months ago I became a first time mom. I'm in charge of an entire tiny human. And that shit is scary. At nearly forty years of age, unsure I even wanted to enter into motherhood, the head trip of becoming a mom has been pretty all-consuming. Some days I can barely remember to put on pants.
Prior to Baby P's arrival, I'd sketched out a schedule for my
writing projects and set what I thought was a reasonable calendar of deadlines for these
projects. That plan is out the window, along with everything I didn't know I thought about being a mom. My head is so not in the novel-writing game because I'm traumatized by my graceless entrance into
parenthood. How do I know I'm traumatized? My first lunch meeting out with my writing partner had me feeling like I had PTSD. That's not what it was, I was actually suffering from FTMS--First Time Mom Syndrome. I experienced anxiety and
paranoia. Sounds were too loud and lights were too bright. Everyone was moving too fast as I
hovered over the baby in my lap awkwardly breastfeeding as the waitress set down a small plate of sushi that would take me three hours to eat. My eyes darted from side to side like a
crazy person. I was out with a baby and in over my head. Never mind the sleep deprivation, which incidentally creates a situation where words like fork and soup completely leave your vocabulary. There's just not a lot of room for fictional characters in my noggin right now because I have all this new mom baggage.
No one warns you about the sheer immensity of the new mom baggage.
They mention it. But never tell you how big it is.
It's because they don't want to terrify you.
This realization that parenthood is hard isn't a surprise. Ninety-five percent of the people I know are parents. I'm late to the game so everyone I know has said, "parenthood is hard" while their ankle-biters throw open ketchup packets in their hair. I thought I had a clue, after all, I've seen a lot of other peoples' kids, but as I look back through the fog that has been my three month introduction to parenthood, I have to say, "Holy Diaper Pails, Batman! What the fuck have I done?"
Seriously.
This shit is madness.
Will I ever drink a hot cup of coffee again?
Parents often tell non-parents that one can't prepare themselves for what parenthood means. I never discounted those warnings, but boy was I still blindsided by some things.
Every expectation I formed as I anticipated the arrival of my child, whether reasonable or not, was altered, dismantled, or destroyed.
For example:
I never expected to be labor for over thirty hours.
I never expected as a natural childbirth supporter I'd choose to have a c-section.
I never expected to be bed-and-sofa-bound for twelve days postpartum.
I never expected my child would have trouble nursing, because breastfeeding is natural.
I never expected my I-don't-hold-babies-husband to be better equipped for parenthood than me. Therefore, I never expected antidepressants.
I never expected to have days that I hate my cherished pets and wished they didn't exist.
I never expected to look at my child and ask myself over and over, why don't I love her?
It's not that I went in with a list of expectations and I was disappointed. Most of these were expectations about how things would go that I didn't know I had. How weird is that? Apparently, I was pre-programmed for motherhood to disappoint me, and I've been grappling with it ever since.
I clearly don't know much about parenthood. I'm trying to get better at it. What I do know is, I have a lot of shit to work out and get off my chest before I can write dragons. There's just no space next to the pile of dirty diapers and milk-coated bottles. It's time to clean house.
Ah, sweetie. I guess nothing can truly prepare us for motherhood. However, isn't it a gift that your attention has been brought to all these assumptions and expectations you have been holding that are total bullsh*t? So now you can throw them all out and decide for yourself how to do things. Make your own rules!! Whatever works, do that! Plus, if there is any way you can get yourself out of the house without the baby for even 1 hour a week, your outlook will benefit from this. With my first child, I had no support or help at all, was very young, my mother was dead, my husband was not helpful, and I thought I was going mad. I had times when I couldn't pick up the crying baby because I would throw him down the stairs. Overwhelm, indeed. But we both survived and it was much easier with child #2. So take it one day at a time, throw out the old rules and make new ones that work, and don't judge yourself. You are actually the woman who was designed to be P's mom. Love her. And post lots of pics on FB!! She is SO cute!!! Big hug!!!
ReplyDeleteYou will have hot coffee again... though it may have been reheated in the microwave a few times. ;-)
ReplyDeleteI find the days where I am actively writing/mentally composing/inspired are the days where I am the worst mom. I only have so much energy, and *making up realistic people* is every bit as hard as *growing up real people*, and newborns are soooooo the hardest of all real people. So if I have a really good writing day, I'm a zombie by dinner time and can barely handle being mom; if I have a really good mom day, I get them in bed and can barely make it to the sofa with a movie. If there's a balance, or a way to have both good writing and good parenting in the same day, I haven't found it yet. Maybe once the kids are all in school, it'll magically happen...