One and Done

spoiled? lonely? the only way for an only child?

My son just turned 2 and already the questions about when I’m going to have another have already started.  They are harmless questions, their askers mean well and some (basically strangers) are just making conversation (in line at the store mostly).  For me, I don’t know how to field this question.  I don’t have a short and sweet answer that’s canned and ready to deliver when the moment arises.  If I’m asked, first I issue a rather awkward pause, and then I start in on this long winded, philosophical answer about the meaning of life and the mother and child bonding process and who I am as a meaningful member of society.  I think that this response is effective in that it tends to throw people off the scent of the answer they were looking for (and maybe even forget their question entirely).  

Do people not realize what a loaded questions this is? I mean, what if my husband and I were trying (unsuccessfully?) what if I had a hard pregnancy (oh wait, I did!) and postpartum (oh wait, I had that too).  What if I find it hard to rally the patience for just one let alone two children?   Nobody thinks about these things - they just ask.  They raise one eyebrow, suggestively, and say “Time for baby number 2?” Like a waitress desperate for a big tip, encouraging me to order another Amaretto Sour.  

I know that people have this stereotype about only child syndrome or that I should try it again because now that I know what to expect (even though every conception / pregnancy / birth and postpartum story is different) I might be able to handle it all better and, this time, enjoy myself.  I do consider these things when deciding for myself.  My husband and I discuss these things too. And money and lifestyle and careers and family.  Funny how we never discussed these things in detail before they happened.

Family members hint all the time about going out for a night on the town with my husband so that we can produce another heir to the throne.  Or a princess sister for our little prince.  “His eyelashes are so long, Michelle, think about if you had a girl!”  I do get baby flutters now and then when I hold my baby niece or see cute (not crying, screaming babies) at play group.  But they are momentary flutters that go away rather quickly.  It so hard.  I never thought that I would feel this way.  My absolute favourite game growing up was playing with my dolls or playing “house” and I was always, always the mommy with my babies.  I love kids, I’m a teacher for goodness sakes.  But motherhood is different.  A friend of mine has a young son - a bit older than Charlie - and she is expecting twins.  What if that happens to me? I don’t mean to make it sound like getting hit by a car.  I shouldn’t refer to it as “happening to me” like its a tragedy.  I know others who’ve have had baby number 2 turn out to be baby number 2 and 3 and while some look at it as a blessing (and it is one, of course) it doesn’t always present itself clearly as a blessing until they are in school full time and you can enjoy them in small doses.  

Am I a terrible person for admitting all this?  I don’t know.  One and done is looking like it might be our family story, not by necessity, but by choice.  I wonder if I should make a decision tree and concept map my way to a decision?  Am I over-analyzing it?  I’m so on the fence its not even funny.  I guess its a pretty privileged place to perch.

Through The Fog

don't let it creep in on you and try to manage it on your own

Its foggy outside today.  Where I live, its never foggy very often and so its odd and notable to see the mist hanging there in mid air. There have been a few times already today where I’ve glanced outside while passing by a window and actually stopped for a moment to keep looking.  No real tangible thoughts occurred to me when I stood there, but I stood for a pause nevertheless. 

Charlie had a really long sleep today and instead of the regular chores or movie watching, I decided I’d reflect on being a mom.  Maybe I’m dried up on unique topics for my “mom blog”.  I don’t know.  But ever since watching the tear-jerking film, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, based on the novel of the same name by Jonathan Safran Foer, I’ve been ruminating on that vital parent-child bond.   Today I thought a lot about the events or things about becoming a mother that have left me changed and the things that have bonded me to my son.  I tried hard to define motherhood (and parenthood and dependency and responsibility).  To express the epic change that occurs when you bring someone into the world.  I thought of many images and metaphors, but what I realized beyond anything poetic, artistic or with a writer’s sensibility is that I experienced for the first time in my life, real mccoy depression.  Post-partum depression, baby blues, whatever you’d like to call it.  I think the majority of it is over now, I’m “through the fog”, but sometimes, on days like this, due to pathetic fallacy I guess, little whispers of it creep back.

For those of you who have depression on a good day versus a sleep-deprived, hormonal rampage one, well, I guess this post is pretty empty for you (or maybe not).  I’m not looking for sympathy and I certainly don’t feel sorry for myself.  I’m writing as an open confession (though confession seems like the wrong word for talking about depression - it assumes there is some shame there - which there isn’t) maybe an open letter is a better way to express it.  

Before I was married and had Charlie, when I was in high school, I babysat a lot.  This one family had three kids and seemed pretty perfect from the outside.  I used to watch crap tv when the kids went to sleep, but one time I noticed on the book shelf Down Came The Rain by Brooke Shields.  “Maybe their mom isn’t so perfect.” I judged.  I read the entire book over the next 3 babysitting jobs.  I was far away from having a baby and yet I, for some reason, was interested in it.  After I had Charlie I was in a fog.  A thick one.  I couldn’t even see what, for those close to me, was as plain as day: I was majorly depressed.  It took me about 6-7 months of suffering before I went to my family doctor who referred me to a mental health specialist.  I was afraid to go.  I thought, this isn’t depression, I’m just tired.  I’m just bitchy and sore and frustrated.  But, when I went, she administered the Edinburgh Post-Natal Depression Scale/Test and told me that, yup, I needed some help.  I didn’t feel like I loved Charlie.  I wanted to.  I knew that I should, but I was too overwhelmed and sad to feel that emotion.  To love anything frankly, even things I used to love.  Before.  

But now I feel pretty darn great.  I didn’t need medication (though I would have taken it if the doctor recommended it), but I started blogging and journaling and telling people about it.  I connected to other moms and felt better.  I wasn’t alone.  I also started to notice how Charlie was becoming more independent.  I stopped nursing.  He slept through the night.  He started to engage and be more responsive.  He started developing more of a personality.  I started to feel myself enjoying him and loving him and feel more natural as a mom.  I’m more lighthearted and don’t feel so anxious about things.  I don’t always worry or blame myself if things don’t go exactly as planned.  I don’t cry at the drop of a hat.  I sleep better and if the chores are piling up, I usually just do them one at a time instead of thinking of them as this giant, unachievable mountain of a to-do list.

Now, when I hear Charlie wake up from his nap, I don’t feel heavy or panicky that he’s awake.  I feel excited to play with him and see the world through fresh eyes.

http://www.helpformom.ca

http://www.lifewithnewbaby.ca