Home. Home for me right now is Newport News, VA, in a beautiful third-story apartment with granite counter tops and hardly any furniture. Hoping to rectify the furniture situation soon. In the meantime, I'm glad to be here. My soul is no longer out wandering the earth without me.
I'm not feeling quite as hopeless as I did last week. I just get weary of people very easily at times, and visiting family doesn't always conjure up glowing memories of my past life with them. I love my family and often miss them, but their lives have always seemed chronically dramatic. Not Jerry Springer dramatic, mind you...my brother only has one baby's momma, and that's his wife...but dramatic enough to make me grind my teeth on occasion. I also feel guilty whenever I visit because I think I don't get to spend enough time with everyone. (How's that for mixed emotions?)
However, I'm glad to be back in my private place, both inner and outer. As my pregnancy has worn on, I've become quieter and more pensive. Maybe it's the hormones. Or maybe it's my brain's way of trying to grasp the enormity of my impending motherhood. I laid in bed early this morning and thought to myself, "What do I do with a newborn baby?" He'll be so delicate, too helpless to even lift his own head. Do I just hold him all day? Watch him sleep? Or more: will I enter this massive transition in my life with calm patience, or go around tearing at my hair?
Or both?
Seriously, I could care less about BPA in plastic bottles right now or questionable chemicals in the baby's bedding. I have more pressing concerns on my mind equal to the meaning of life, the universe, and everything. (So far, the answers appear to be about as illuminating as 42.)
The problem is, weighty tomes equal to the size and volume of those read in college history courses have been published on the subject of childbirth and motherhood, and yet not one of them can tell me anything concrete about my child. Sure, he'll need his diaper changed often and need to eat about every 2 to 3 hours, but no book can tell me how often he'll cry, or if he'll experience colic, or how easily he'll learn to sleep through the night, or anything else that depends on the unique genetics and individual personality of the baby. Essentially, sometime after the delivery, a nurse will hand me my son--a precious, fragile, and totally dependent life--and say, "Just do your best until you figure it out."
And they call it a bundle of joy.
Hi There!
8 years ago
2 comments:
A baby, that's incredible. I can't imagine being on the brink of being a parent. My brother had a child a little over a year ago (this makes three). It has been amazing watching the child grow and develop. I ask him what it's like to be a parent. He told me, "It's just something you do."
Will you go in calmly or end up pulling your hair out? I imagine it will be a complex but satisfying mixture of both.
About child rearing my brother told me, "As long as you can accept that your life ends the day your child's life begins, you'll do alright as a parent." I told him that sounds terrible. He told me that is because I'm not a parent. I guess I can't really argue with him on that one.
I suppose it depends on what you call a life. I know raising a child will require some major sacrifices and putting certain activities on hold, but I still plan on following through on my dreams and goals.
Also, I'm sure there's probably some sort of immense satisfaction that comes with unselfishly caring for another person--especially when that person is a part of you!
Thanks for reading!
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