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A Rare Moment of Quiet
I got up a few nights ago to pump (Phil does the late night feed). Nothing came out. I was alarmed. I can typically get 5 oz in a matter of minutes. But I knew deep down what was happening. My body was giving me an ultimatum. Slow down or else…
For weeks I’ve been running myself ragged. Actually, ever since before Emmett was born. I’ve been catering to company and overbooking everything from play dates to mom dates.
I woke up today and realized Emmett is almost three months old. He’s my last baby. I want to enjoy him, to soak in and savor his existence.
I’ve been so concerned with Fia not feeling my attention shift and so overwhelmed by the constant stream of guests, that I haven’t been taking proper care of myself–mentally, emotionally, or physically. Or him. I have missed feeds (he is given a bottle if I’m not around) and it doesn’t help that I hate pumping–partially due to my boob wound. It tends to open back up if I’m on the pump too long.
What it comes down to is this: I have basically blown off the most basic needs of my newborn and put everyone else–including myself–ahead of him. I’m not proud.
It’s tricky because on the one hand, you love your friends and family. I want them to meet the babes and I want to spend quality time with them. But let’s face it, even if people are here to “help,” there is a level of “entertaining” involved: cooking meals, cleaning up, showing the sights, etc. I want to be a gracious host. But at what expense? With a new baby, I can barely pull off a routine as it is.
I know a lot of life is running errands, grocery shopping, and yes, having loved ones visit. But when our last round of visitors left, I exhaled for the first time in ages. Company=work. No matter who it is. Inevitably any semblance of a schedule goes out the window.
Tell me I’m not alone in this quandary.
Looking back at the past 6 months, I also realize how exhausted I am from moving our family across the country when hugely pregnant and setting up a life for us in LA– also when hugely pregnant. Then…I had a baby. Yes, a baby! That small, earth-shattering event that rocks your world.
Oh, and it was a C-section, with some recovery involved–but I blew that off too. I was dust-busting my floors two days out of the hospital because I couldn’t take the mess. As a result, I kept bleeding. A friend finally gave me a similar ultimatum that my boobs did: if you don’t stay off your feet, you will not heal. It’s that simple. I finally listened.
Now I’m listening again. And luckily, the body forgives.
For the past two days I have relaxed, meditated and breathed. I have been drinking Mother’s Milk tea constantly. I’ve gotten our feedings back on track and have spent some serene, quiet moments with my sweet son. I have kissed, smelled and nuzzled him like a mama cat.
As I type, he is sleeping next to me. He peeps and coos and smiles as he dreams. He is joy.
Forgive me baby boy. I’m back now. And our “Inn” on Ames Street is CLOSED until further notice.
