Thoughts On Motherhood 18 Months Out

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror yesterday. I look good. I’m slimmer. I cut my hair shorter. I look healthy, pink cheeked, if not a bit tired around the eyes. I’ve noticed my “crow’s feet” have finally started to come in. I was wondering when the birds would leave their footprints on my face.

Physically, despite being affected by the news even harder than I ever was before, and I have always been a bit frazzled by the ever-increasingly insane goings on in the world, I’m feeling OK. I walk more than I used to, to get baby to his classes, playdates and events. I used to ride my bike all over the city but those days are on hiatus, for now. Putting the baby on the back of a bike is still a little nerve wracking, with the exhaust and the cars whipping inches away from his little body. Someday, we will get there, maybe. Mommy and me scooters, perhaps. I don’t miss the subway, which I barely ride anymore. There’s plenty to do in our little community, plenty of babies my son’s age, plenty of classes, museums, walks and activities for us to do without having to set foot on the F, B, D or J, God love ’em. When he gets older, we’ll venture out more to the big museums, various institutions and shindigs across town.

I read that moms’ brains are actually rewired by nature in a sense, often leaving them a tragic mess of fog and insanity for up to 2 years after the baby is born. Yes, nature does that to us on purpose, for some reason. The only one I can really think of, and it’s because I felt it, is so that baby is the most important thing to us. It didn’t feel that crazy to me at the time, but I definitely felt…different. I felt, in a way, obsessed with the baby. Did he poop? How much? Was it soft? Hard? What color was it? This poop chart I printed says that color is OK. Did he cough just now? Does he have a fever? Why? Is he happy? When will he walk? Is that early? Late? These and thousands of other questions whipped through my mind on a daily basis. Google was my co-pilot through those hard early days, and I still turn to it from time to time to answer the hard parenting questions that Dr. Spock’s book doesn’t cover.

So yes, I felt different when the baby was born, and I feel different now, permanently. I feel like a mom. Every time I say that, it feels weird. Every time I think it. “I’m somebody’s mommy”. It reminds me that I have so much more to do now that feels so much more important than the so many things I used to have to do that also felt oh so very important at the time but now seem like, almost a joke. Partially because what I was doing before literally was jokes. I was a comedian. It’s not that I’m not a comedian any more, but I haven’t been getting on stage so much these days. The baby’s bedtime is at 7 PM and I just don’t have the heart to skip out while he’s sleeping. What if he wakes up and I’m not here? What if there’s a problem? What if, what if, what if? That’s another new thing marking these months. The what ifs are nearly impossible to ignore. They’re loud and imposing and cold and dark and keep me up at night even, sometimes. I rely on yoga and meditation like I never have before. I understand the importance of a good diet and moving my body like never before. I just gotta see this kid through college is my new mantra.

My neuroses or nerves or insane brain or whatever happened just after the baby was born has definitely let up, though it still lingers. It didn’t strike me as “insane” behavior at the time, but yes, I began living differently than I had gotten used to living my life. I wasn’t that, well, anal or obsessed with anything before the baby came, though I’ve always been a touch on the anxious side. Can you imagine a mom brain mindset in a comedy world? It’d go something like this: Were they laughing? Why? At me or with me? Was the joke good? How good? Which part were they laughing at? What word was the funniest word? Did it have a k sound? That guy is on his cellphone. Should I call him out? Should I kick him out? Eh, maybe I’ll just leave him alone. Does he hate me or is he genuinely busy? Maybe I should ask him if he’s a Doctor? If he’s a doctor, he gets a pass, except, what is he doing at a comedy show when he should be saving someone’s life? Get out of here, man, go help your patient!

My relationship with my baby’s father is different now, too. My husband and I do talk, we are close, we spend time together and still enjoy eachother’s company, but we have to work a little bit harder at it then we used to. Things have gotten a little bit more serious. It was all fun and games until the baby came. Now, our fun is scheduled, planned, less spontaneous. One night a week, we go out to dinner together, usually hot pot. We sit and laugh and talk like old times, except that we’re paying someone to let us be alone together now. One night a week is pizza night. On that night, we stay up late and watch old, very cheesy horror movies. It hurts a little bit the next day when we have to get up early for the baby, but it’s worth it. We try to make an effort to leave our phones away when we are all together. We talk, we make plans, we discuss creative projects and brainstorm on ideas and things to do together. We plan future fun. But a year and a half out, it’s clear to see that things have changed between us. It’s not the same as it used to be. Not that it’s bad, we are still happy and I am still in love and as much or maybe even more appreciative for and of him, but it is definitely a new ball game. We have to work harder. We used to have a motto: “A & J always on vacation”, like the line from the Beastie Boys song. We are anything but always on vacation nowadays. Now it’s more like “A & J always busting our asses and very tired”. But I know it will ease up. It already has.

Sleep has improved, on all fronts. The baby still isn’t sleeping through the night every night, but he does, sometimes. I hear once he’s not nursing anymore, his sleep schedule will get more fixed. If you’re a regular reader, then you know that sleep training isn’t my jam.

I have friends again; a whole new set, in fact. I have about a dozen mom friends who are really wonderful people who I’m so glad to know. They have kids that are my son’s age, give or take a month or so. We met at the library, or on a mom board, or through a mutual mom or at a play date. We kept in touch because that’s one thing moms are pretty good at. We get together and the kids hang out and play, because otherwise we wouldn’t really see other adults. We enjoy each other’s company, and our kids don’t seem to mind being in the same room together at the same time, also. Many of my old pals and childless friends are all but MIA. But I understand. If you’re not in this world — the world of children — it can be weird to make time for it. It’s almost like eavesdropping, or like a person who knows nothing and cares little about tech going to a tech conference.

The way I eat is totally different. The amount of times a week I get to shower ranges from impressive to disappointing. My c-section scar has healed and faded. It doesn’t itch so much anymore. I almost don’t notice it’s there, unless I look for it.

At 18 months, my baby can practically take care of himself. Sure, he has a little trouble turning on the stove alone and still needs me to soap up his butt crack, but he can walk and run and communicate well. He lets me know when he’s happy, tired, angry, not feeling well, hungry. He tells me he likes me or that he’s mad at me. He makes it clear when he’s feeling scared or shy or excited or curious. He still needs me much of the time, through out the day. But I don’t have to keep my eyes glued on him every moment of every hour in the same way I did for months and months. There’s a breath happening. I can feel it. We have fun together. We enjoy eachother’s company. I still wear him, and he enjoys being near me. When we walk into a strange room together (I’m dragging him into strange rooms all over the city on a nearly daily basis, telling myself it’s really for his benefit but who am I kidding? I’m happy to be out of the house, too), he is happy to have his mommy guard there to scope out the scene. Once the coast is clear, I’ll let him out, and he knows, if he’s on the ground, I feel safe enough for him to be there. That makes him feel safe, too. We are a team. Maybe even more than that. We’re a family. We share blood.

I’m still nursing. The WHO suggests I do it for two years and I tend to follow directions when I’m feeling inclined to do so. He seems happy to nurse, I’m happy to let him, it’s going well, so I figure, hey, let’s ride this out for a few more months. Part of me is ready to be done with it. A larger part of me knows I’ll be sad when it’s all over. I will miss the closeness. I will miss being truly needed in a way that no one has ever needed me before and will probably never need me again.

I’ve abandoned bras. I hate them and I’m done with them, I think forever. I stopped wearing them early on after my son was born because they cut into my body. Even the looser more comfortable ones aren’t doing me any favors. Big deal? So I didn’t have a Barbie Doll shaped bosom. I never had one to begin with. Bras were invented by men, right? My body is way more comfortable without the elastic poking into my side, and I think it’s healthier, too, and less constricting. I love not wearing bras. I have switched to camisoles because they’re way more comfortable, less expensive, prettier, daintier, easier to get into and out of for nursing and they are soft and wash well and they’re just great.

Who knows where I’ll be 18 months from now. I may be riding a bike everywhere, doing stand up, 20 pounds heavier, my hair long, eating tons of awful food again, drinking all the time and back to my old hijinks. But somehow, I doubt it. I think the new me is here to stay. I like this new mom version of me. I’m more confident. I’m older and wiser. I’m happier, in a way. I don’t even know if I was happy before or if I’ve been happy at all since before I knew that happiness was just a construct that I could step into or out of, like a pantsuit. Not since I was maybe 10 or 11, have I been truly happy — before my parents’ divorce was finalized. Sure, there’ve been moments of joy and beauty, but that naive, oblivious, simple happiness; that’s been gone for a long time. I have been able to reconnect to it through the birth of my son, because he experiences it, and it reminds me that it’s a thing that existed once for me, and that it now exists for him. I hope he gets to enjoy the simple happinesses of childhood for much longer than I did, though I’m grateful that I got to experience it at all, and I hope that we get to enjoy it together for many years to come. Just let me see this kid through college. And then maybe I can ask for more years, if I can just make it there, first.

That’s my 18 month motherhood report. Over and out.