Wednesday, April 2, 2014

It Got Better: Part 2

Welcome to Part 2 of "It Got Better." You can check out Part 1 here

When last we parted ways, we were discussing new motherhood and infant airplane pilots and crying and a mysterious link sent to me by my longtime friend, Gina.  But let me back up just a little. 

I've known Gina since elementary school. I don't recall what bonded us precisely, but I do have a vivid memory of first being dazzled by Gina during recess. She was ice skating. And, this being Baltimore, we had neither ice rink nor frozen pond behind our school. The Winter Olympics were in full swing, and Gina, inspired, would choreograph intricate skating routines to be performed in the alley. Because, this being Baltimore, recess was in an alley.

She would swoop about the asphalt, leaping with graceful, extended arms. She would twirl, arching her back, holding her hands prayerfully skyward. She would run in figure eights around the boys playing WWE Cage Match and around the gaggle of girls who, in utter confusion, were watching the boys. Even as a dorky kid, I found her skating routines kind of bizarre, but I was impressed. She just didn't give a damn. And her triple Lutz was stunning. Eventually, I was swooping around next to her.

And that's how our friendship has sailed along for almost 30 years so far: Gina, the intrepid adventurer, and I, her awed and slightly terrified fan girl. By the time college rolled around, Gina was stomping about the woods in Outward Bound or hiking through a canyon once she had moved away to Northern Arizona. She went rappelling and rafting and generally trekking through places that sounded beautiful and remote and full of super-big bugs.

When we were still in our early twenties, she took me on a hike through Sedona and on another through the Grand Canyon. For my benefit, both were novice-level excursions, but I was still awed by her competence. Her confidence. Years later, when Gina married and became a mom of two boys, I imagined her just as she had always been: Competent. Confident. In hiking boots. But now with a kid tethered to her backpack by a bungee cord. And thanks to Facebook, I got to see just that (almost) -- a photo of Gina in a wide-brimmed hat and hiking boots, making her way up a steep trail with her youngest strapped to her back in an Ergo.

Gina and the boys looking pretty happy about being in nature,
even though nature is where the bugs live.

My life took a decidedly more cautious turn than did Gina's. I've never once felt the urge to rappel from anything. I can barely ride in the elevator without hyperventilating. My weekends were spent doing brunch and recovering from doing brunch. Then, at 36 (weeks shy of 37), I became a first-time mom, and I suddenly felt crushing fear, despair, and vertigo. For years, I'd been hunkered down in a cubicle, correcting a comma splice here, adding a sentence there -- thinking that, somehow, I was building a desperation-proof bunker around my life. But motherhood flattened my bunker like it would, eventually, flatten my boobs.

My son had jaundice and then he wouldn't latch and then he had reflux. When he finally starting nursing with gusto, he clamped down for an hour at a clip; I would hum or flex my feet to keep my mind off of the shooting pain. To help with his reflux, my OB suggested I cut out dairy then soy then nuts then wheat. I wandered around the apartment topless, eating corn chips, while my son screamed in his sling. It was February. It was cold. It was wet. I was stuck. Forever. With a baby who hated me.

Let me tell you what I think about your problems, mom.

It's nothing that millions of moms haven't been through before. But I hadn't been through it. I didn't know. My plane was in a nose dive. So on a murky afternoon, I put Pork Chop in his crib and let him cry while I tapped out an email to Gina. "I feel so clueless that it's a wonder my kid has survived this long with me for a mother," I said.

Then Gina sent me this link: http://www.momscape.com/articles/easier.htm

More importantly, she told me that, when her second son was born, she had to read the article in the link every day (every day for many weeks) just to keep a grip on sanity. I did not understand. Gina had a grip on everything. She was, and is, one of the most sure-footed people I know. But colic, as it turns out, can make the ground beneath any mom's feet just fall away.

I read the article, and it was comforting. More than that, I felt like less of a loser for being scared and sad. Because my friend had felt the same way. But I also felt hope. Gina wasn't still reading that article on the daily. Things really had gotten better for her. If I could just hang in there long enough, I reasoned, things might get better for Pork Chop and me too. I still wanted someone to hose down the runway with flame-retardant foam, just in case, but I was starting to suspect our little plane might touchdown safely after all.

Unlike Gina, I didn't read the article ever day, but I referred to it a lot, especially in the middle of the night, when my son would wake for his regular 4 hours of inconsolable crying practice. I also started taking long walks with Pork Chop, despite the cold. I swaddled him layers of fleece and circled my block, letting the chilly air calm my nerves as it calmed my fussy boy. I finally invited friends over, praying that they could still love me even if I smelled liked B.O. and baby puke. And they did. Or were too polite to say otherwise. And their company made me feel better.

Better. Yes. It really happened. At about 3 months, Pork Chop started sleeping. More than that, I stopped feeling perpetually panicked and was able to sleep too. We finally got the hang of breastfeeding; I actually began to enjoy the time just being close to my son. (Fourteen months in, and he's still nursing.) Pork Chop started smiling and then giggling and then full-tilt belly-laughing. He finally noticed our dog and his mobile and his stuffed animals, and he found them all wildly entertaining. I could put him in his crib, turn on his mobile, and 15 minutes later, he'd still be staring at it so intently that I suspected the mobile was sending him secret messages. But as long as the messages were friendly, I didn't care; 15 minutes was long enough for me to shower or to eat a sandwich. And when you've been wandering around your apartment topless, eating nothing but Tostitos, while a screaming baby is strapped to your body, a shower and a sandwich are gifts. In fact, a shower and a sandwich were the collective sound of my landing gear being lowered as we made our final decent.

How 'bout I do the flying from now on, kid? 

As Pork Chop enters his toddlerhood, we are exploring new terrain. There are tantrums to navigate and baby gates to install and food to be scrubbed from the floor, walls, ceiling, tables, couches, toys, and dog. And, yes, when it snows until April and my family is stuck in a perpetual illness loop, motherhood doesn't feel easy. But it still feels easier than those early days. It's still better. I'm more competent, more confident, more rested. I put on sturdy shoes with ankle support. I took a shower. I ate a sandwich.

But I couldn't have gotten to this place of easier and better without the support of friends and family who sent me links, ignored my B.O., listened to me bitch, suffered through my mixed metaphors and confusing analogies, and who, it turns out, were waiting to greet me with three cheers and a stiff drink in the airport lounge. 

15 comments:

  1. I loved part 2, and it looks like I may have gotten first dibs on reading your post. I loved it so much in fact, that I left Ellen's grilled cheese to blacken like charcoal on my stove. I could picture Gina twirling around the alley of St. Dominick's. It made me laugh out loud. Sam is so cute and as you must already know, so very worth all the shit he has helped put you through. You are a better person, woman, friend, sister, ect. because of him. Give him a smooch from his Auntie Sarah!

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    1. I couldn't have made it through those crazy days without you, sister! And, yes, the kid is worth it, but he better not stick me in a home. He owes me. Big. Time.

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  2. oh geez, crying right now because I needed to read this so badly today. (Ben has inherited my husband's air pressure headaches, it seems. It's raining here, it's chilly,he's miserable, I'm miserable, and I cannot thank you enough for this article)

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    1. I'm a bit of a techno-phobe, but I am so grateful to be a mom in the age of the Internet because, even when folks are faraway, we can still lean on each other. Just know that you are doing a good job. And that the miserable part won't last forever. When you feel just god-awful, just totally desperate, do whatever you need to do and know that it is okay to do it -- watch 12 hours of Netflix, walk around a mall with a stroller, order takeout, call for help. I'm pulling for you!

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  3. Thank you so much for sharing Gina's link! Love that column, love this post. It *does* get better -- but we all need good friends reminding us of that along the way. :)

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    1. Absolutely! Without my friends and my family propping me up, I'd be writing this blog from inside a locked ward!

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  4. Jess - This blog of yours is a wonderful thing, for yourself, your friends and all women who have gone through the throes of new motherhood. If there had been such things as blogs when my 3 children were born, it would have made things a lot easier to know that what they were going through was normal and would pass. And it's an excellent way to vent
    And actually, Jess, inside yourself, you have always been the person Sarah describes, strong, confident, competent and loving. All of us knew it, and now so do you. Love you lots, Aunt Judy

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    1. I am so grateful that I became a mom in the age of the Internet! Reading other blogs and articles is what got me through the long, lonely nights of hourly newborn feedings. As to my confidence and competence, well -- I'm a believer in "fake it 'til you make it"!

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  5. Jessica - God bless all moms. I have always been in awe of each and every one of you. Part I just made be salivate for Part II and it did not disappoint. This is why God gives us friends, to help us through times we feel we can't survive. You are already turning a corner and have such a great support network to help you along the rest of the way. A.D.

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    1. And God bless that aunts of those moms! You know I come by my craziness honestly. But the fact that I can usually laugh at how nuts I am is family trait for which I'm really grateful.

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  6. I've been a Dad for almost 37 years but didn't know crap about being a Mom. Thanks for allowing me to be a passenger on your flight. It's been hilariously enlightening. Hugs and kisses. Uncle Frank

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    1. Oh, don't get me wrong: Being a new parent is emotional chaos, whether you're a mom or a dad. Dads are just spared a lot of the physical turmoil (ya know, like giving birth). But poor Shelby -- he was not only overwhelmed when Pork Chop was born, he was overwhelmed by how overwhelmed I was. We were a MESS. (We're still kind of a mess, but we're a well-rested mess.)

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  7. Thank you for posting this honest and beautiful essay, Jessica. It will be an encouragement to so many mothers. I know it already is!

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    1. I hope that it is. I'm glad I can laugh about it now, because back then, not so much.

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  8. Honestly, looking back, I don't know how any of us moms made it in the early days. There's something so lonely and utterly terrifying about being a new mom. I used to have horrible fear that I'd drop my infant son, or something. Your words will help so many new mamas as will the reminders that it does get better and that we're not alone in feeling incompetent. Beautifully written.

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