A drowsy September day. It's 8:30am and the air is saturated with damp warmth. After your father left for work at 7:30, you sat in your swing in the kitchen while your sister and I ate oatmeal (I with raisins and brown sugar and your sister with a lot of raisins and brown sugar and granola). Then we drove her to school and you screamed while I tried to say good-bye to her. She wore a brown play dress with circular gold designs pressed into the fabric and a white sweater featuring two large strawberries and a pair of huge, heart shaped sunglasses. She only started to cry twice during my 30 minutes with her--once when I said she couldn't have *both* brown sugar and honey in her oatmeal and once when I made her submit to my hairbrush. She had already brushed her hair using her Hello Kitty brush (which makes a sound like a princess passing through a field of chimes with every brushstroke), but this left a huge, untouched snarl of hair in the back. Thus my insistence on brushing. Though it should be noted that prior to this morning I can't even remember the last time I brushed her hair.
After a huge growth spurt last week (12 ounces!) you now seem mildly disinterested in food. You ate last night at 6:30pm, passed out (after 3 hours awake) at around 8:00pm and then didn't eat again until 1:00am. Then I had to wake you at 5:00am to feed again because I felt like I was going to explode. More and more you are happiest stretched out on your back along the length of my thighs, in alert observation of the world. Today, this morning, after all that sleep, in the gray light of 6:45am, propped against my legs, comforter swollen all around us, Daddy drowsing beside us, you smiled.
Meanwhile, I am still bleeding. It's been seven weeks since your birth and still--blood. (I realize this might feel like too much information to older-you or other readers but I figure if Mamas like me have to bleed for seven weeks then other people can at least hear that it happens. So suck it up, teenage Matteus). Probably, everything is OK. But maybe there's still a piece of something left inside my uterus. I'm not too worried. Mostly, I'm just reminded that birth is a long process. That my body is still trying to let go of that story. My doula suggested that I take liquid chlorophyll. Which I thought had to be a catchy way to describe something other than liquid chlorophyll. Turns out, it is literally liquid chlorophyll. Deep green (can stain clothing!) and peppermint flavored (better breath!) and I think I like the *idea* of drinking the stuff much better than actually drinking it.
Because the truth is these last few days I've felt on the verge of tears constantly. Maybe it's the hormones or the lack of sleep or the bleeding. Maybe it's knowing that our friend Jennifer is taking last sips of water, offering last blessings to her children. Maybe it's the impending departure of Charlie and Becky and Lucy and Hattie, good friends who leaving Northfield--not going far, but still, departing. Maybe it's the overwhelming feeling that I currently suck at everything. I'm not patient with Thisbe. I have no interest in touching your father. I forget to ask dear friends about important milestones in their lives. I'm overdue on approximately 642 thank you notes. My house looks like it was disemboweled. I'm not even *in* the classroom today because theoretically I'm recuperating but ironically I suck at that too since I'm actually sitting at Blue Monday, bleeding.
You're alive. Which I guess means I'm doing something right. but your poops have been green and, according to the internet, this means either that you're not getting enough hind milk, that you have a dairy allergy, that your digestive track is maturing, or absolutely nothing. But it feels like maybe I'm sucking in the milk department too.
And I know all the things to tell myself--it gets better and this is normal and grace and forgiveness and a messy house is OK la la la la la. I know that's all true. But today is a day of feeling fragile and quavery.
Though it's only 9:15am. And once that liquid chlorophyll kicks in I may start kicking some serious ass.
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