Fridays don't mean much to SAHMs
Friday's like any other day when you're a SAHM. The weekend is here but today starts and ends like any other day, just like Saturday will start and end for Eliza and myself, like any other day. In some ways, every day is a vacation day, that is, if your idea of a vacation is to be in motion from the time you're up until the moment you lie down and the sleep overcomes you in the same manner a ship rocking under your feet becomes such a part of you that even after you get off the boat, you feel yourself listing.
"Sleep when the baby sleeps," this is the mantra of everyone you talk to while you're pregnant. And sometimes it happens automatically and sometimes I lie down when she does and I'm wide awake. On Wednesday, I stayed in my bathrobe all day and forced myself to lie down whenever I could see her enter the nap zone. We took a nice nap together from around 1:45 to 3 pm and I did wake up feeling surprisingly refreshed. Naps, those afternoon rituals you hated so much as a child, become like an expense paid trip to Puerto Rico when you're an adult with kids.
Right now, little Miss Eliza is asleep in her swing and I'm taking this precious nap time to write here while making sauce for my lasagna. I should be following everyone's advice and hit the couch but a nap for me would only end up in burnt lasagna and no creative expression for the day. Not that I'm writing anything here to rival Keats but at it does satisfy a need. I'm making lasagna because C's mother is coming to town and it's a fairly easy dish to prepare for guests.
Yes, the unmarried status of myself and C adds another yet another challenging label for his mother. I refuse to call her my mother-in-law (MIL to woman who can't stay off urbanbaby.com) though several of my friends do. "We're not married," I say with consternation, as if anyone needs to be reminded. I've always enjoyed our non-married status, like it's a "Get out of jail free" card. It never occurred to me that when I gave birth to this darling, delicious, savage little creature, C's parents would suddenly be hanging around. But now that Eliza's here, suddenly so are they, and with the intensity of a feeding pirahna, C's mother descends on us ready to bathe her granddaughter in kisses and hugs. I'm not used to in-laws of any kind and can't say how I feel about C's mother one way or the other, but I'll be frank, watching her with my daughter kind of gives me the creeps.
Is it jealousy on my part, an obsessive desire not to share? Is it because I've never been married, never had in-laws and never felt like combining families was an experience I was missing out on? Is it because I only saw myself as having one set of grandparents growing up because my father's parents had absolutely no interest in us? I always thought I'd find two sets of grandparents confusing and didn't understand how other people found it normal to refer to their "blue nana" and "nana Ethel." Using first names so you'd know which grandmother you were talking about? No, like mother, I felt, there should be only one grandmother. I didn't want to think of my grandmother as Elizabeth, besides Grandma Elizabeth would be too much of a mouthful for a child and why would you want to subject your kid to that?
So perhaps I'm territorial because I want Eliza to have the relationship with my parents I had with my grandparents, loving, close and very exclusive. This I realize is wrong, I should only want for my daughter what is best for her. If this woman wants to slobber her with love, I should stand back and accept it. Perhaps in time I will. But being that this was an unplanned pregnancy and that C's mother and I don't really have much of a relationship to speak of, it's going to take me some time to feel comfortable with a woman I barely know, cooing and cahing over my most precious possession. I've never been great at sharing and unfortunately this is no exception. But I can only hope, in time, if this woman proves her worth to me, I shall enjoy watching her bond with my daughter. I'm not there yet so I make lasagna, I clean the table, I busy myself with chores so I don't have to think about things too much as I tend to be an overthinker. I've often sat up at night wishing for an off switch for my brain the way others may wish for the winning lottery number.
Later...
C's mother and brother just left and C is with my darling daughter in the bedroom all three of us share trying to calm her down. This is one of the hardest aspects of being her mother for me--there are times when she only wants me and tonight is one of those nights. In fact, today has been one of those days. My friend Paula came over so I could make the lasagna. My plan was she would entertain Eliza and I would cook but Eliza screamed while Paula held her I was afraid my nosey next door neighbor would be on the phone with social services. So I ended up holding Eliza and ordering Paula around like my line cook. "Peel that zucchin!" "Make sure those noodles don't stick!" And in the midst of all this culinary chaos, Eliza had shall we say, an accident. Again, Paula assisted me in one of the less savory tasks of motherhood and again I became like a dictator, handing Paula a filthy onesy and watching her slink to the bathroom sink with it dangling off her pinky.
The lasagna went over extremely well, my makeshift MIL and C's brother are gone and Eliza is screaming in C's arms. She wants me, whenever I take her, she stops crying but C is ushering me out of the room, telling me to "Go Relax" as though I could relax when my daughter sounds like she's being pelted with pine cones. I've got the music playing, scented candles scenting and still her cries split through me. I'm tired of everyone telling me to relax, to let her cry, telling me I can't hold her all the time. Most of the time she isn't like this, what's so wrong with my holding her when she is? If she really wants me, what's wrong with giving her what she wants? She's two months old and all the classes and books and all the assorted parenting instruction manuals say repeatedly, you can't spoil a baby. Last night she didn't cry like this so why should I listen to my daughter cry and cry when if I hold her she stops? When my mother was here this past Sunday night she understood this, handed my daughter right back to me with no complaint. I know C needs his time with her as well and usually she loves to be with him but tonight, that's not the case.
Wait, it's quiet in there now. Perhaps she's worn herself out. It's after ten and I'm sure she's pretty tired. Still quiet, that's good. I know I can't hold her all the time, I mean right now my back is killing me from holding her for a good part of today. But at the same time my babysitter was here yesterday while I got a haircut, the night before C watched her while I went out. Today I had a friend over and was busy preparing lasagna. Sometimes a girl just wants her Mama, if I'm here and want to be wanted what's wrong with my wrapping her in my arms and covering her face with kisses? I know the importance of taking breaks to preserve your mental health--that's why the evening at Delmonico's, the babysitter, even having a friend come over when I've got a meal to prepare that's going to take some time.
Still quiet. And yet I feel oddly unfulfilled. Walking out of a room when she's crying, not comforting her myself when she wants me and I'm there to comfort her, leaves me feeling unsatisfied.
The bond between us is so much stronger than I can describe. I could hit on every cliche about a cord still binding us, the blood in my body that fed hers, the breath that I took that fortified and nurtured her. Every part of me went into making her and she is like this grand creation, this best part of me, this being created in my body by nature. If I'd had to build her with my own devices, my own clumbsy hands, my own tentative decisions, she would never end up as defined, as strong as she is now. During my pregnancy, whenever I'd hear her heartbeat in the doctor's office and Dr. Tung's eyebrows would raise, impressed and she'd say "Perfect," I knew it was my baby that was perfect, not me. She created herself, this being so full of life that willed herself into this world on her own strength and desire. Surely my own resolution and determination is not as steely as hers. Left to my own capabilities, I could not have created anything so wonderous, so zesty, so electric with life.
"Sleep when the baby sleeps," this is the mantra of everyone you talk to while you're pregnant. And sometimes it happens automatically and sometimes I lie down when she does and I'm wide awake. On Wednesday, I stayed in my bathrobe all day and forced myself to lie down whenever I could see her enter the nap zone. We took a nice nap together from around 1:45 to 3 pm and I did wake up feeling surprisingly refreshed. Naps, those afternoon rituals you hated so much as a child, become like an expense paid trip to Puerto Rico when you're an adult with kids.
Right now, little Miss Eliza is asleep in her swing and I'm taking this precious nap time to write here while making sauce for my lasagna. I should be following everyone's advice and hit the couch but a nap for me would only end up in burnt lasagna and no creative expression for the day. Not that I'm writing anything here to rival Keats but at it does satisfy a need. I'm making lasagna because C's mother is coming to town and it's a fairly easy dish to prepare for guests.
Yes, the unmarried status of myself and C adds another yet another challenging label for his mother. I refuse to call her my mother-in-law (MIL to woman who can't stay off urbanbaby.com) though several of my friends do. "We're not married," I say with consternation, as if anyone needs to be reminded. I've always enjoyed our non-married status, like it's a "Get out of jail free" card. It never occurred to me that when I gave birth to this darling, delicious, savage little creature, C's parents would suddenly be hanging around. But now that Eliza's here, suddenly so are they, and with the intensity of a feeding pirahna, C's mother descends on us ready to bathe her granddaughter in kisses and hugs. I'm not used to in-laws of any kind and can't say how I feel about C's mother one way or the other, but I'll be frank, watching her with my daughter kind of gives me the creeps.
Is it jealousy on my part, an obsessive desire not to share? Is it because I've never been married, never had in-laws and never felt like combining families was an experience I was missing out on? Is it because I only saw myself as having one set of grandparents growing up because my father's parents had absolutely no interest in us? I always thought I'd find two sets of grandparents confusing and didn't understand how other people found it normal to refer to their "blue nana" and "nana Ethel." Using first names so you'd know which grandmother you were talking about? No, like mother, I felt, there should be only one grandmother. I didn't want to think of my grandmother as Elizabeth, besides Grandma Elizabeth would be too much of a mouthful for a child and why would you want to subject your kid to that?
So perhaps I'm territorial because I want Eliza to have the relationship with my parents I had with my grandparents, loving, close and very exclusive. This I realize is wrong, I should only want for my daughter what is best for her. If this woman wants to slobber her with love, I should stand back and accept it. Perhaps in time I will. But being that this was an unplanned pregnancy and that C's mother and I don't really have much of a relationship to speak of, it's going to take me some time to feel comfortable with a woman I barely know, cooing and cahing over my most precious possession. I've never been great at sharing and unfortunately this is no exception. But I can only hope, in time, if this woman proves her worth to me, I shall enjoy watching her bond with my daughter. I'm not there yet so I make lasagna, I clean the table, I busy myself with chores so I don't have to think about things too much as I tend to be an overthinker. I've often sat up at night wishing for an off switch for my brain the way others may wish for the winning lottery number.
Later...
C's mother and brother just left and C is with my darling daughter in the bedroom all three of us share trying to calm her down. This is one of the hardest aspects of being her mother for me--there are times when she only wants me and tonight is one of those nights. In fact, today has been one of those days. My friend Paula came over so I could make the lasagna. My plan was she would entertain Eliza and I would cook but Eliza screamed while Paula held her I was afraid my nosey next door neighbor would be on the phone with social services. So I ended up holding Eliza and ordering Paula around like my line cook. "Peel that zucchin!" "Make sure those noodles don't stick!" And in the midst of all this culinary chaos, Eliza had shall we say, an accident. Again, Paula assisted me in one of the less savory tasks of motherhood and again I became like a dictator, handing Paula a filthy onesy and watching her slink to the bathroom sink with it dangling off her pinky.
The lasagna went over extremely well, my makeshift MIL and C's brother are gone and Eliza is screaming in C's arms. She wants me, whenever I take her, she stops crying but C is ushering me out of the room, telling me to "Go Relax" as though I could relax when my daughter sounds like she's being pelted with pine cones. I've got the music playing, scented candles scenting and still her cries split through me. I'm tired of everyone telling me to relax, to let her cry, telling me I can't hold her all the time. Most of the time she isn't like this, what's so wrong with my holding her when she is? If she really wants me, what's wrong with giving her what she wants? She's two months old and all the classes and books and all the assorted parenting instruction manuals say repeatedly, you can't spoil a baby. Last night she didn't cry like this so why should I listen to my daughter cry and cry when if I hold her she stops? When my mother was here this past Sunday night she understood this, handed my daughter right back to me with no complaint. I know C needs his time with her as well and usually she loves to be with him but tonight, that's not the case.
Wait, it's quiet in there now. Perhaps she's worn herself out. It's after ten and I'm sure she's pretty tired. Still quiet, that's good. I know I can't hold her all the time, I mean right now my back is killing me from holding her for a good part of today. But at the same time my babysitter was here yesterday while I got a haircut, the night before C watched her while I went out. Today I had a friend over and was busy preparing lasagna. Sometimes a girl just wants her Mama, if I'm here and want to be wanted what's wrong with my wrapping her in my arms and covering her face with kisses? I know the importance of taking breaks to preserve your mental health--that's why the evening at Delmonico's, the babysitter, even having a friend come over when I've got a meal to prepare that's going to take some time.
Still quiet. And yet I feel oddly unfulfilled. Walking out of a room when she's crying, not comforting her myself when she wants me and I'm there to comfort her, leaves me feeling unsatisfied.
The bond between us is so much stronger than I can describe. I could hit on every cliche about a cord still binding us, the blood in my body that fed hers, the breath that I took that fortified and nurtured her. Every part of me went into making her and she is like this grand creation, this best part of me, this being created in my body by nature. If I'd had to build her with my own devices, my own clumbsy hands, my own tentative decisions, she would never end up as defined, as strong as she is now. During my pregnancy, whenever I'd hear her heartbeat in the doctor's office and Dr. Tung's eyebrows would raise, impressed and she'd say "Perfect," I knew it was my baby that was perfect, not me. She created herself, this being so full of life that willed herself into this world on her own strength and desire. Surely my own resolution and determination is not as steely as hers. Left to my own capabilities, I could not have created anything so wonderous, so zesty, so electric with life.
posted by Litgirl Mama at 9:27 AM
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