Taking a Breather
It’s a strange thing, this cycle of mothering small children. Just when you reach one plateau in the precipitous climb of parenting, when you realize you actually have a moment to catch your breath—she’s sleeping through the night; can it be?! Or: thank God, no more of that awful terrified-of-everything stage!—the next challenge rises up with its inevitable mix of guts and glory.
Julia has just, so recently, gotten to the stage of being able to entertain herself largely on her own for short periods of time. (I should note here that she's been doing this with HER FATHER for several weeks now; it's only with me that she seems incapable of separating herself from my kneecap for more than twenty seconds at a time.) I know that for many parents, this experience comes far earlier, and to hear about it now with a 23-month-old must cause some head-shaking and responses of, “Yeah, AND….?” I know there are babies who can sit on the floor and play with toys by themselves; I’ve even seen it firsthand with my sister’s youngest, Gabe. I often forget he is even in the room, how foreign that species of baby is to my personal daily existence.
But this is Julia we’re talking about, and the fact that, perhaps two or three mornings a week after breakfast, I might find myself sitting at the dining room table reading e-mail and my favorite blogs on the laptop while she sits a foot away in her highchair, contentedly coloring and “writing” with pen and notebooks while I actually GET OTHER THINGS DONE (pleasurable things, no less! for possibly as many as 15 minutes at a time!), feels like a miracle to me.
And she naps now, every afternoon, no question. While many days it’s not much more than an hour, every now and then she’ll throw a 2 or even 2-1/2 hour curve ball in there, and I’ll have time to check e-mail, return calls, do laundry, AND exercise, and it feels not just like a miracle, but like a figment of my imagination. I’ve really never had reliable breaks from constant Julia-care before (on weekdays, that is, when I'm her sole caregiver). Since infancy, her naps have been unpredictable and dismayingly brief; her requirement for near-constant interaction intense. When she was a nursling, her feeding sessions were frequent and endless. My initiation into motherhood was one of never-ceasing need. It became my Normal.
But now, this newfound sliver of rest and relief makes me wonder if this is what it is like to be an at-home mom with a child in preschool. It makes me wonder if this is what being an at-home mom is like for MOST at-home moms. It makes me wonder WHY in the world I am on the verge of having another newborn just when my firstborn is starting to give me a break now and then. Egad. Am I insane or what?
I said it in premonition of Julia’s arrival two summers ago; I’ll say it again: In a few months, I’m going to be sitting on the couch in a dirty bathrobe all day, nursing every twenty minutes. With Julia, that’s EXACTLY what happened—except for the bathrobe part. I sat in dirty pajamas all day instead. And, okay, maybe it was every forty-five minutes instead of every twenty—MAYBE. (And really, does it matter? Either interval is too short to actually squeeze in showering, eating, or any household chores or errands before the next belly-up to the milk bar.) But wait---this time, I guess, I have to alter my prediction to accommodate Julia’s presence. There won’t be any “sitting on the couch all day,” nursing or not. I expect I will quickly master the art of nursing while actually standing up and walking (or sprinting, or nuking frozen peas, or supervising a session on the potty-chair).
It’s pretty hard to imagine. But then I remember, back when Julia was a newborn, how impossible it was to imagine ever being able to take care of her alone all day and also manage to feed myself, or bathe, or dress—let alone make it to and from the grocery store by ourselves, or up to the 4th-floor pediatrician’s office from the parking ramp with the infant carseat and the diaper bag. Now? These things are the stuff of life, no more remarkable than breathing. I have to assume that being mom to two rather than just one will gradually become the same.
And as for the insanity of having another baby just when I’ve begun to relish the joys of coffee breaks and catnaps and easy full nights of sleep? Well, love IS pretty insane, isn’t it? Who knew?
Julia has just, so recently, gotten to the stage of being able to entertain herself largely on her own for short periods of time. (I should note here that she's been doing this with HER FATHER for several weeks now; it's only with me that she seems incapable of separating herself from my kneecap for more than twenty seconds at a time.) I know that for many parents, this experience comes far earlier, and to hear about it now with a 23-month-old must cause some head-shaking and responses of, “Yeah, AND….?” I know there are babies who can sit on the floor and play with toys by themselves; I’ve even seen it firsthand with my sister’s youngest, Gabe. I often forget he is even in the room, how foreign that species of baby is to my personal daily existence.
But this is Julia we’re talking about, and the fact that, perhaps two or three mornings a week after breakfast, I might find myself sitting at the dining room table reading e-mail and my favorite blogs on the laptop while she sits a foot away in her highchair, contentedly coloring and “writing” with pen and notebooks while I actually GET OTHER THINGS DONE (pleasurable things, no less! for possibly as many as 15 minutes at a time!), feels like a miracle to me.
And she naps now, every afternoon, no question. While many days it’s not much more than an hour, every now and then she’ll throw a 2 or even 2-1/2 hour curve ball in there, and I’ll have time to check e-mail, return calls, do laundry, AND exercise, and it feels not just like a miracle, but like a figment of my imagination. I’ve really never had reliable breaks from constant Julia-care before (on weekdays, that is, when I'm her sole caregiver). Since infancy, her naps have been unpredictable and dismayingly brief; her requirement for near-constant interaction intense. When she was a nursling, her feeding sessions were frequent and endless. My initiation into motherhood was one of never-ceasing need. It became my Normal.
But now, this newfound sliver of rest and relief makes me wonder if this is what it is like to be an at-home mom with a child in preschool. It makes me wonder if this is what being an at-home mom is like for MOST at-home moms. It makes me wonder WHY in the world I am on the verge of having another newborn just when my firstborn is starting to give me a break now and then. Egad. Am I insane or what?
I said it in premonition of Julia’s arrival two summers ago; I’ll say it again: In a few months, I’m going to be sitting on the couch in a dirty bathrobe all day, nursing every twenty minutes. With Julia, that’s EXACTLY what happened—except for the bathrobe part. I sat in dirty pajamas all day instead. And, okay, maybe it was every forty-five minutes instead of every twenty—MAYBE. (And really, does it matter? Either interval is too short to actually squeeze in showering, eating, or any household chores or errands before the next belly-up to the milk bar.) But wait---this time, I guess, I have to alter my prediction to accommodate Julia’s presence. There won’t be any “sitting on the couch all day,” nursing or not. I expect I will quickly master the art of nursing while actually standing up and walking (or sprinting, or nuking frozen peas, or supervising a session on the potty-chair).
It’s pretty hard to imagine. But then I remember, back when Julia was a newborn, how impossible it was to imagine ever being able to take care of her alone all day and also manage to feed myself, or bathe, or dress—let alone make it to and from the grocery store by ourselves, or up to the 4th-floor pediatrician’s office from the parking ramp with the infant carseat and the diaper bag. Now? These things are the stuff of life, no more remarkable than breathing. I have to assume that being mom to two rather than just one will gradually become the same.
And as for the insanity of having another baby just when I’ve begun to relish the joys of coffee breaks and catnaps and easy full nights of sleep? Well, love IS pretty insane, isn’t it? Who knew?
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