scared to birth

Really good day today. Co-sleeping doesn’t so much work for me & Blake, but it sure works for Blake & the Boy. The downside is that I have to spend the night on the couch – but that’s the only downside. The Boy will get up when Blake starts to fuss, and either soothe him to sleep or bring him to me for a nurse. Last night I was able to sleep for almost 7 hours, with one hour-long break to nurse in the middle. I feel sane today. I feel competent & my panic has receded. I’ve even stopped freaking out about my pregnancy & birth experiences being over now, although I’m still sad that I may never see Hectate again. Transference? Maybe. Maybe I could get a comment from those who knew her socially, years & years ago – am I just projecting because she’s such an excellent midwife, or is she also an excellent civilian?

I think Blake himself helped my state of mind. In sharp contrast to the past few days of much restlessness, he’s spent most of today in peaceful slumber. My mom calls it a “growth day” – a day when he takes time out of actively conquering the world to sleep & grow. I keep thinking that I’m going to pay the price tonight – but even so, I’m rested enough to deal with it. I may think differently at 4 in the morning, but now I feel on top of things.

All of this quiet time today has given me yards of time to think. One of the things I think is that, my cult jokes to the contrary, La Leche League and all the other pro-breastfeeding people have this all right. Breastfeeding is the one thing that only I can do for Blake...so even when I’m in the worst of my depression, my rejection of the outside world can only proceed so far. No matter how much I want to curl up in a corner & wither away, I still have to come out every few hours to feed the sweet monster. Without that connection, I greatly fear that I’d’ve felt even more ambivalent & alienated from the baby.

I’ve also come to realize that I’m scared of him. I’m afraid that his lucid smiles and beeps of exploration will turn into harsh, beet-faced cries of dismay. I’m scared that if he cries & I pick him up, he may not calm down. Not only that, but I’m afraid he will calm down, and I’ll be left holding tight to a little delicate bundle when I could be doing something else. I’m afraid of the shame of failure and I’m afraid of the boredom of success. I’m afraid that I’m wasting this time, and I’m afraid of regretting my depression down the road. I’m afraid that he knows what I’m thinking and that he’ll never love me because of it. I’m afraid that I’ll get worse and I’ll stop loving him forever. I’m afraid that my family will see what I’m thinking and stop loving me.

He just...scares the life out of me.

He scares me because he’s the end of my half-hearted clubgirl habits. Now that he’s here, I can’t pretend that I’m still a girl who goes out dancing in a Salvation Army camisole and a skirt that barely covers my panties. I can’t go out drinking with Preacher in the middle of the week on 10 minutes notice. I can’t smoke cigarettes with Poet all night. I can’t spend an entire weekend in Scherezade’s basement, or on Palaver’s couch. I can’t wear Stacy’s clothes to fetish nights and flirt shamelessly with a variety of male friends at the Dance Cave under a retro blanket. I can’t experiment with drugs. I can’t spend a stupid amount of money on boots.

I’m somebody’s mom. And it scares me to death. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself.

I’ve also come to realize that, with quite a large measure of irony, all of the help I accepted this month might’ve actually made things worse. I keep thinking that if I wasn’t so willing to hand over the baby to all admirers during his first 3 days, I might have built up a decent milk supply when I was supposed to, rather than after he got dehydrated & lost too much weight. I was so intent of chatting, on typing words into computers, on sleeping, on being admired for my courage – in other words, I was absolutely intent on keeping my life as familiar as I knew how. I didn’t risk anything because I let everyone pick up my slack. And then, after the baby started to thrive and I finally got rid of a painful illness, I found myself with this tiny stranger who sucked at my body & my attention & my emotions whenever I wanted to get back to my old life.

So I cried. And I despaired. And I worked myself into a right stew by not sleeping. I allowed myself to view every bit of help from my family as a reason to feel guilty, because I “should” be handling it all. But I didn’t know how to handle it, and let’s not forget, I was/am scared to death of my infant. So I spent hours feeling like the lowest of the low, whether I had him in my arms or not.

Today he slept. Whenever he feeds, he falls asleep in my arms. Tonight, instead of sharing him with anyone or putting him down on the couch by himself, I curled up around him. Not because I wanted to sleep, although the books all imply that you’re a fool if you can’t sleep the moment your baby’s eyes close. But because I wanted to get to know him. I didn’t want him to be in someone else’s lap if he woke up & started fussing. I wanted to feel his heat against my stomach and side, and I wanted to connect this long, round baby with the kicking genderless potential being I had talked to in my belly for 8 months.

I think I’m starting.

I think I’m starting to connect the dots. I think I’m starting to accept my new role. I think I’m starting to be someone’s mom, rather than someone’s depressed birthpod/milkmachine. We’ll see how I feel tomorrow morning...but right now I feel good, and I’m not going to downplay that. No matter how long it takes me to feel good, at least I can work through it in a natural, lasting way; this time I don’t have to chomp down drugs to keep me lurching through every horrid day.

Update: after writing the above, I went upstairs & spent 2 hours hanging out with the Sprout & my parents. I think this is the first time I can remember that I’ve been with these 3 & haven’t felt a vague thread of panic or guilt running through every thought. For once I stopped worrying that I’d never soothe Blake the way they do, or that I’d miss a hunger cue and he’d suffer because of my idiocy. I also didn’t feel a sneaking gratitude that they took him off my foolish hands before I could damage him. I just felt happy. Because he was beautiful & happy. And we all loved him.

See how big he's grown...

Blake at 1 month + 3 days (today):

Blake on his birthday:

(I had forgotten that he used to have smears of blood on his feet and his shoulders and in his hair. We didn't bathe him for 3 days to spare him the trauma of being cold & naked right after he arrived; this meant that he smelled like amniotic fluid for a long time. Every time I nursed him in the first three days I could smell this thick, animal scent wafting off his tiny body. It was incredibly compelling. He smelled like he was mine.)

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- Rocketbride's adventure of 1/11/2004 11:18:00 p.m.