Beatrice turned nineteen months on the 4th of November.[Read more…]
Aurick Virgil turned one month on the seventh of November.
This may be the latest one-month update I have ever posted–a full week late. Aurick, I hope you don’t mind.[Read more…]
This was typed up Friday evening while the thoughts were fresh. They’re not fresh anymore–most of the paradoxical feelings have been forgotten, so please forgive the rambling nature and abrupt leave-off. I will leave it in its woefully unrefined state for authenticity’s sake.
It’s movie night, and almost everyone is downstairs watching Return of the Jedi. Beatrice is in bed; I am in bed (or, sitting on top of it.) Aurick is in his basket in the “baby closet” I prepared for him.
This is his first night at home. We arrived from the hospital this afternoon, made all the introductions, passed Aurick around, ate dinner, gave baths, put some to bed and some to watching the movie. I tried to watch, but my right hip is still hurting too much. I came upstairs to put Aurick down and to try to ease those sore joints with the massager. They’ve been sore for months now–I am not sure how long the easing will take.
The postpartum period is rife with contradictions and nonsensical emotions. Here tonight I am finally home, which I have been looking forward to being for two days, yet packing up from the hospital always feels very melancholy to me. I think this is because it is the first place I am together with the baby, and it always feels like the close of a chapter that no one saw but me. The feeling of driving home is very surreal–like nothing has changed except the baby and myself. It’s hard to explain.
There is also the stark relief of not being pregnant anymore, and then the slight sadness of not being pregnant anymore. I use the massager on my hip, glad that I don’t have to worry anymore about it somehow hurting the baby when I do. I use the massager on my hip, a little sad that he’s on the outside and not the inside anymore. Why both?
For weeks I dreaded (dreaded) going into labor, giving birth. I almost would have chosen to be pregnant for another month. Then I finally face it, and it’s fine like it always is, and the memory of it stands out starkly in my mind–the pain, the smells, the sounds, everyone in the room. I lie here and I think I would not go through the pregnancy again for anything, but I would repeat the birth. Why?
I always try very hard to put things in order before a baby comes. Cleaning, organizing, decorating. This time I was in so much physical pain that I left most things be. I remembered that I won’t really care so much once he’s here how organized things are. (It’s true.) Now we’re home, and the desire to totally order things looms still in the back of my mind. This is “The Machine” that I fought against with Beatrice. Aurick is the Seventh, the Day of Rest. I have made him swaddling blankets with the edges fringed to remind myself to leave margin and not exhaust myself with ordering everything, which consistently renders me unable to see people as anything but tasks. I am a little concerned I will not be able to remember very easily.
Combining two months in an update that’s almost late enough to combine three. Beatrice is almost eighteen months old.[Read more…]
Little Miss Beatrice is fifteen months old.[Read more…]
I will attempt to be better at documenting this pregnancy. This is how weeks 14-18 went for me.[Read more…]
Seventh Kransling is a boy, and he has a name![Read more…]
I will attempt to be better at documenting this pregnancy. This is how the third month of pregnancy (weeks 9-13) went for me.
This month was the very worst for morning sickness. It just seemed to get worse and worse, and my resolve to bear it with dignity withered with each passing day. I hit a huge wall at around 10 weeks. Emotionally, I just couldn’t cope with trying to keep up with life and feeling so miserable all of the time. The knowledge that I was only halfway through the worst part compounded my frustration. Dizzy spells, “noodle-arm syndrome”, nausea and food aversions all intensified. I spent a lot of time crying this month. I just wanted to feel better and be able to do the things I needed to do.
In the book of Jeremiah, the prophet is led before officials of the city by the priests and others seeking his death. They cannot find reason to condemn him, yet Jeremiah places himself in their hands to do as they will. In any case, he tells them, he has said the words that God has given him, and his death won’t change the message.
Christ also is led before the court with false accusations by religious leaders. He also submits himself to their rule, despite His innocence and the Divine nature of his message.
In Isaiah it is prophesied that the wolf will lay down with the lamb. Then follows a series of things all diametrically opposed to one another. They are paradoxes; things that should not be together but nevertheless are. These images are touted as symbols of peace, and maybe they are, but there is much tension in a paradox. “I have not come to bring peace, but a sword,” says Christ.
That tension seems to be the sum of my days recently. Keeping balance is an ever-present task. Sometimes we talk about balance as if when we reach the balancing point, we can relax. I do not think that moment ever comes.
Jeremiah surrenders his life; he is saved. Uriah flees to save his life; he is captured and executed. It is a paradox. Whoever finds his life will lose it; whoever loses it will find it.
Motherhood is a paradox. When my first was born, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to go back to normal and keep ahold of “myself” as separate from motherhood. The more children we added, the more difficult that became, and the more stressed I became. After my sixth, I finally yielded that. It’s not that I stopped taking care of myself. It’s that I stopped caring so much about it. Everything still happened as normal, but I could breathe.
When we reflexively strive for peace, will we find it?