The Ideal

When Peabody was born, that first night home was a doozy. D and I were both reeling from the lethal combination of the sleepless night before the induction, the sleepless night in the hospital, and (too much...) friend/family time. And then Peabody refused to be set down. My body hurt everywhere, and I was on a postpartum emotional roller coaster of sheer elation and sheer exhaustion. But it was ok. Because I had someone else there to hold the baby, someone else to change diapers, someone else to share the sheer burden of situation with me.  And because said someone wasn't my mom or dad, brother or sister, I didn't feel guilty about sharing that burden. I felt relieved and so very, very blessed.

I took off six weeks to be at home with my family when Peabody was born.  Those were six delightful, dreamy weeks that I was so lucky to have, and that I will remember forever as such a wonderful time. D and I spent countless long, luxurious hours staring at our baby, snapping endless pictures, exclaiming over her every expression, comparing notes on the best way to soothe her, the best way to attract her attention. We were able to take turns sleeping, showering, eating, playing with E, homeschooling, cleaning the house, doing laundry, so that nothing and no one was neglected.  We went together to doctor's visits and made the first anxiety-ridden visits to the grocery store with baby in tow. We tried out the stroller and the swing and the bouncy seat and the bassinets. We learned how to put her to sleep (that all-important goal of all parents...). We were able to figure out how this new little creature was going to fit into our lives, how we were going to handle any number of new situations. 

If we were a "traditional" family, and D had gone back to work after a week (if he had even felt comfortable taking that much time off), I can't imagine how much more we all would have suffered. Everything would have been ok, but it definitely would have been so different.

When I went back to work, one of my bosses was surprised that I looked so happy.  How could I not have been? I was well-rested, my children were safe at home, my house was clean, my pantry full, and I had spent six weeks falling even more in love with my wonderful husband, who I knew was perfectly capable of taking care of everything at home.

So the moral of the story is, if there is any way for both you and your partner to be at home with your new baby, do it. And do it for as long as possible. It's so worth it.

Humility

The other day after Mass, the lady in front of me turned around and said "You have a lovely voice!"
E looked up at me disingenuously and said "That hasn't happened in a while!"

Finally

The night before you were born,
we lay awake, unspoken anxiety
like a blaring alarm clock.
Items checked from lists before they reached
my full consciousness, my mind racing,
trapped in limbo by what was impending.
Forty weeks felt like a lifetime and yet,
and yet, the questions raised themselves.

The dawn of the day you were born
crept through the blinds,
pierced our awareness as we sat over a game,
attempting to focus on something
I could control,
trying not to watch the dips and peaks
monitoring your tolerance.
Knowledge is a heavy burden and fear
tempers it not.
Prayer is easier when you know the outcome.

The moment you were born,
your father's tears stood bright.
Relief and fierce,
fierce joy flooded my heart
as you screamed your displeasure
when cold, light, sound were foisted upon you
in this unfamiliar openness.
You are no stranger, though, not here,
not when hearts strain toward your existence,
not when love stretches to hold you.
Welcome, little one, welcome to the world.

We've been waiting