Flashback of Emotions

I heard from a dear friend the other day who has five month old twin girls (in addition to a 4 year old little girl) and she described to me a few of the feelings and emotions she has had since her twins were born.

Then I was chatting with my Mom last night about the early days and we were debating whether I had post-partum depression.

It was hard. SO very hard. I cried A LOT for the first few months.

But we made it through. Sure, I did actually fall asleep at a red light on the way home from work one afternoon, but living on less than two hours of sleep a night will do that to you!

In honor of my Mom and my dear friend Amy - here is my perspective, both from back then and today.

Numb from the neck down, disoriented and exhausted, the maternity nurses asked if I wanted to hold my babies, while I was on a moving gurney! “No! I can’t hold them yet!” I exclaimed, amazed that they would ask someone who just had major surgery and who was barely aware of her lower half to be responsible for a combined 15 and a half pounds of brand new life!

And thus, my journey of motherhood began.

I had an exceptionally good pregnancy, without complications, and carried my babies to their scheduled c-section date. Ella Jayne and Aidan Foster were born weighing 6.10 and 7.10, full term and in perfect health.

Being a mother has been a profound experience, as I am sure it has been for every new mother that has gone before me. From the first day I knew life was growing inside of me, my battle against myself began. Pregnancy forced me to become less selfish, and suddenly, everything going into my mouth directly affected the health of my babies. I spent the first six months of the pregnancy with my head buried in the toilet. Phenergan helped a little, really by simply reducing my morning sickness “episodes" from about 15 times a day down to 2-3. Headaches and body aches became something to endure, as my body no longer belonged to me.

And then one day it hit me…"This is it…from here on out I will always be someone’s mom.” There was no going back to the way things were when it was just me.

And at 9:32 and 9:33 AM on May 8th, 2007, the heavy mantle of responsibility came crashing down upon my shoulders. Shoulders, which, I might add, were still numb from the needle that had been in my spine! As soon as the nurses asked me if I was ready to try breastfeeding, I had another moment where I realized it was up to me to keep these creatures alive! “For crying out loud!” I thought to myself. “I just carried these babies for nine months, had major surgery and now they want ME to take care of them? Can’t somebody else take a turn? Someone without an IV in each hand, a catheter, a fresh incision and whose arms aren’t lead weights? Glad to see you little ones, but SERIOUSLY!”

This wonderful thing called “motherhood” was just beginning. My hospital stay contained very little sleep, a lot of pain, and false cheerfulness. Yes, I was ever so thankful to have delivered healthy little ones, but did the resident doctor really need to check on me at 5am? Did the entire hospital have to see my breasts as I attempted to feed my screaming offspring? Was it normal to not feel gushy toward my new little bundles?

We journeyed home, having no idea what to expect. Granted, every onesie was washed and placed in the appropriate drawer. I had three dozen burp clothes ready to go. The nursery was in pristine condition and the car seats were installed. We knew the sleep deprivation would be bad, but there is simply no way to prepare for how hideous it really was. It peeked around three weeks, when I found myself sobbing in the shower, praying that my c-section incision would suddenly become infected so that I could go back to the hospital, so that someone would take care of me. I was also struck with a strong case of the “baby blues,” in which I thought I must be going crazy. How could I possibly feel resentment toward these miracles? How could I possibly want a break from being their mother? Other women would kill for the chance to do what I was doing! We struggled for three years for this, and now I want to run away??

Gradually, things began to look up. The tennis-ball sized knot in my shoulder started decreasing in size. I stopped crying. Dark chocolate and vicodin were no longer necessary tools to get through the day, as my incision healed and my stress decreased. The babies started sleeping better.

I have now been a mother for 16 months. It has been a serious crash course in Motherhood 101, but I am loving it! Sure, there are the daily melt downs, the nine loads of laundry a week, the food crusted in my hair.

When they were itty bitty, I would find myself rocking them long after they were done eating, breathing in their scent, savoring those moments, nuzzling their little necks, marveling at their features and thinking about their futures. In hindsight, our quiet time in the middle of the night was often my favorite part of the day.

Now that I am getting better sleep, I recognize how fleeting time really is. I celebrate each achievement and developmental milestone, but part of me aches just a little, knowing that they will never be as small as they were back then, or are today. They will no longer be this desiring of my closeness.

I am a realist. I know that my job as their mom will change, ebb and flow. Motherhood is fluid. I don’t always have good days. I feel guilty when I give more attention to one than the other. I feel badly that I sometimes long for the simplicity of life before children. It bothers me that when they cry incessantly in the close confines of our van, my brain feels like it is melting, and I contemplate parking the car and getting out and walking. Yet I am trying desperately to capture and record this time, because I know it won’t happen again.

Honestly, the first few weeks are a blur of exhaustion and pain medication. But today, I have my own little outlets of therapy. I maintain this blog for friends and family. I keep a little video diary, recording every precious moment. I take many, many pictures. I write in their baby books. But somehow, it just doesn’t feel like enough. There simply is no way to freeze time, to convey exactly how much my heart has expanded to hold the love I feel for my babies. I hardly think I have enough capacity in my chest.

Today I was wishing that I could take a mold of them so that I could always remember how they felt all warm and snuggly in their footed pajamas, nestled into the curve of my neck. Then I thought about how it is my responsibility to shape these little beings, to mold them into little people, to train them in compassion, integrity and putting others before themselves. And I think this responsibility is also molding me in the process.

I am more tolerant of bratty kids acting up in public. I exchange sympathetic looks with pregnant women. My world has expanded exponentially. I am overwhelmed.

Yes, I loved them when they were inside, closer to my heart. I studied their movements, pondered, speculated, and assigned personality traits. And when I first met them I was glad to see them. But motherhood took hold of me slowly, completely. This journey cannot be halted or stopped, and it will be through joy and sadness that I guide my little ones through life.

And it will be my life’s greatest work, to mother these two little miracles.