I feel like I just sat down to write the last post. The problem with actually trying to pack some summer into your summer is shit starts to runaway from you. It feels like elementary school again, when every moment flew by and I was just trying to maximize my time running through sprinklers. Felt like all of five minutes before it was time to hang up my awkward one-piece and no-purpose goggles and head back to school. Not that you guys are school. You guys are way better than school. But trying to get on a more frequent blogging schedule is a little trickier than I thought.
We had a pretty busy weekend, full of friends and activities and there was even a high-quality nap somewhere in there. One of my dearest friends just had her first baby, and we went up to Philly to visit her family with another wonderful friend of ours. I’m not going to lie. I was pretty in awe of this new mama. She had makeup on. She had real clothes on, and a bra. She didn’t seem like she was taking a small break from eating her own hair. And she had a baby just a couple weeks ago. I think I was hissing at sunlight that soon after August was born, and I was most certainly not showered. Or at least less showered than I am on the regular. There was a period of time where I didn’t wear a shirt, and just walked around with a My Breast Friend fastened around me like a damn inner tube. Those weren’t exactly pleasant days, and there’s been a lot of apprehension on my part about returning to all that. But visiting my friend, and seeing that sometimes it can be easier, gave me some of my first “Maybe I can possibly sort of do this again one day, perhaps?” thoughts.
So there’s that. I’m pretty terrified of having another child. Partly because, aside from the occasional sleep boycott or short-lived tantrum, August is an easy kid. And technically, he was an easy baby. But I did not have an easy time being his mother. Nowadays, I know this kid. I know how to be his mom. But it took a while to get there. I barely left my house for the first three months. I barely left the chair that I nursed him in most days. My pregnancy, my birth experience, those first few months while trying to breastfeed, and my body every step of the way, were absolutely nothing like I expected. Everything felt out of my control. And a lot was, and a lack of control is normal and should be expected. But I didn’t handle it well at all, and I don’t have a lot of confidence at this exact moment that I can handle it much better the next time around. But that is something that I’m learning I need to let go of. It doesn’t matter if I am the kind of person that needs to be in control. When a baby comes, I am going to lose a lot of it, whether I like it or not. Babies don’t give a shit about your comfort or preferences or if you’re a Type A first born Capricorn who gets into fights with doors that look like pushers but are actually pullers.
Part of it is the unknown. Part of it is the fear of returning to what I know, because what I already know sucks. Part of it is the ever-present mom guilt. How could I ever love anyone as much as I love August? Right now, he’s the world. We are always together, I am always available to him. And I feel bad that he won’t have that level of attention when I have another baby. But I’m starting to get there. What I am trying to say is that my friend’s unbelievably sweet little girl turned my uterus up a notch, and it has been a minute since that thing wasn’t protected by lasers and attack cats.
Sometimes, when I sit down to write without a plan for what I am posting about, I am surprised by what ends up coming out. I’m also excited that the audience I am writing for- my friends, family, and people I’ve never met- has always been a supportive audience that makes me comfortable enough to not just hold down the DELETE button instead of hitting PUBLISH after flying off on a tangent like this. I appreciate that I can come here and be honest, and probably sound like a wackjob, without fear or weirdness. So thanks for being cool.