Something a little different today. I found this post in the 'drafts' section of my blog. This never was posted, and was written when Ender was two weeks old, May 20th, 2009:
Having Ender in my life has proven such a whirlwind event, that I find myself crashing on my face at 9:30 every night with a serious headache and an inability to process the way my life has changed. I imagine that this is a coping mechanism, because if I did have time to think about it, I might grieve it a little. It might bother me more.
Ender is going through a growth spurt. He has always had long sleeps and long feeds, but even moreso now. He sleeps for three intervals during the night, and has two naps during the day. In the day he will eat for sometimes three hours at a time. All I can do is sit and feed him. It's starting to make me terribly irritable, especially with this glorious weather that is just a touch too cold to nurse a newborn outside in. Plus I'm not good enough at nursing yet to do it in any precarious positions. Even when I try and do so laying down, his latch is bad and he screams out with dismay at his inability to feed what I imagine is a clawing hunger that posesses his tiny brand-new soul.
I'll be the first to admit that I've not been incredibly pleasant. I have devoted so much energy to this child that I feel too overwhelmed to deal with any other human, including myself, including my husband. I try and save smiles for him, and time for me, but most of the time my brow is furrowed and I'm totally totally lost in thought. What about? Number of wet diapers vs. number of feeds (signs of a good latch and a good feed), whether or not this nap will be the nap that means that I get to nap, and what the hell I'm going to do once Mike's paternity leave is over. This is not to mention the barrage of appointments that we need to go to in the next month. I guess the thing that worries me most is that I'll never snap out of this survival mode. I'll always be tired and crabby and bitchy, and always be desperate for a nap more than a kiss from my man. That's a scary thought, and not a reality that I want to accept.
I never posted it because I recognized the blink-in-time that it represented. I was filled with so much fear at the time. The truth is, a lot hasn't changed since then. I mean, I'm no longer afraid that Ender will fail to thrive. His chubby legs, wrists and face are a testament to the success of breastfeeding. But I am still in survival mode, and at times cracks appear in this veneer that I've developed. I get so scared. Scared that I can't do this and the things I have dreams of doing. That I'm not a good mom. That in my fear of being a bad mom I'm being an overly good mom and a bad wife.
The fact of the matter is that I am irrevocably changed, and feeling your personality changing is even scarier than noticing the events that change you.
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