There is this imaginary future parent-life that I think all non-parents have in their minds based on their recollections of childhood, observations of other parents, and time spent with other people's children. In this imaginary life, things don't change that much. Sure, they'll have this adorable little one to take care of, but in this imaginary life, children take up a space rather like that of a much-loved pet. Of course they'll require time and energy and those mythic sleepless nights, but it's not like life will be over when we have kids! Those other bleary-eyed, frantic parents with the crazy kids are just doing it all wrong. Our kids will never sleep in our beds, watch TV, use pacifiers after the age of one, have temper tantrums in public places, eat that junk, leave the house looking like that, still be in diapers at that age, etc. And of course, we will simply hire babysitters whenever we want to go out and make sure to have regular date nights together, and keep up with our friends etc. Will we travel halfway across the country with a one year old to attend a friend's wedding? Naturally! The kid will probably just sleep most of the time anyway! In fact, I'm pretty sure that I thought that once I was a stay-at-home mom life would be easier because I'd have time to keep the house clean, run the errands, and come to think of it, I should probably pick up a part-time job or a new hobby just so that I don't get bored!
Riiiiiiiiight. Pretty much every parent I know has such a tale to tell (and some pretty funny I'll-never lists, too) about the parent they imagined they would be and the smack-down that real parenting delivered. I've decided it's not even worth spending the energy to try to explain this to the childless / child free set when they deliver their sage parenting advice because, like a near-death experience, it's something you just have to live through in order to understand. It's really best to nod thoughtfully and say something like "hmm....oh......that's an idea.....I'll have to think about that..." etc. They'll either have kids of their own some days and get it, or they never will. And while either option is just fine, there's no point in trying to rush enlightenment.
All this is the long-winded way to say that like most people, I was utterly and completely unprepared for life after children. Really. I was ready for some weeks of sleeplessness (like finals, right?) but not YEARS and YEARS of sleeplessness. I was ready for some changes and inconveniences but not the complete and utter loss of life as I knew it.
And let's face it, for me, parenthood also meant a certain loss of self-hood. It wasn't a sudden thing, but a gradual one. One year and then the next and then the next began running into each other like little tributaries into a great river, their waters mixing and resolutely gathering speed until time was rushing and I found myself bobbing along in the current, too busy staying afloat to catch my breath or take in the scenery. My energy, body, plans, thoughts, time, and projects were no longer my own, and after a few years of this new life, just who I and what I was as a person began to get a little blurry. I became a part of this other thing, this bigger thing, and yet I found that within it I was having a hard time defining my own outline. Like looking down into the water at the distorted shape of your own body kicking beneath the surface. I became at once familiar and foreign, even to myself.
And, of course, that is what happens to many of us, especially those of us who choose to stay home.We don't prattle on and on about our kids because we just can't wait to tell the world everything about our adorable off-spring and are too self-absorbed to realize that other people aren't that interested. We talk about our kids because those kids take. up. every. moment. of our waking (and sleeping) lives, blotting out other topics like the news, classic literature, gossip, movies, TV shows, cooking, the weather, vacations, and hobbies. And yet, we are so desperate to talk to someone who has a vocabulary of more than 50 words and doesn't drool on us that we will resort to venting about the only subject that we know at the moment: the kids. And, because we are frequently suffering from levels of sleep deprivation outlawed by the Geneva Convention, we are probably hallucinating and mistaking your bored expression for a look of eager attention by some strange new creature. My, it must be convenient to have that extra eye there in the middle! I bet that they charge a lot for those custom glasses, though.
So it is that I found myself more than a little lost this year. I had foolishly assumed (again) that when I was finally sleeping more and we had found a routine with each of the kids that I might begin to feel like my old self again. And yet, Ellie weaned, and then began to sleep, and everyone settled into the predicable routine of a new school year, and the mad rush of time's current broadened and slowed a bit so that I could grab onto a log and look around.
And yet I still felt disconnected from myself. Everyone else was sleeping at night, but often I wasn't. There were spaces in my waking day in which to write, but I couldn't. I had nothing to say. The projects that usually satisfied me were strangely uninspiring. I was stuck. I began to worry that I might be depressed. Or maybe it was hormonal, which seemed crazy but possible at the same time. Obviously, there had to be something wrong with me. I had gone two-dimentional somehow.
This dragged on. I considered having blood work done just to make sure. I never cared about aging before, but this was beginning to worry me. I tried not to let the pool of discouragement sloshing inside me splash onto the people around me, but it seemed like a ridiculous amount of work sometimes. I didn't know who this amorphous new me was, but I didn't like her. Not one bit.
And then it happened. My mother-in-law took Lexi and Spencer for four days over Thanksgiving. On the Friday after the holiday I had planned to be a whirlwind of productivity: to get my stagnating to-do list cut down to size while the house was relatively quiet. But I woke up that morning with another plan. A strange, foreign, crazy plan. It made me a little giddy, thinking about it. A little subversive. I wasn't going to do a damn thing. That's right. I wasn't going to wash anyone's clothes, or clean the house or cook any "real meals". I wasn't going to do any lesson planning, run any errands, make any lists, organize anything. I was going to drink my coffee and read the new National Geographic. I was going to play on the floor with Ellie, do some drawing, knit a little, read a book. I was going to spend one whole day doing what I pleased.
It was amazing.
After one day of quiet, selfish activities, I felt resurrected. I was some how more ME again. I was laughing easily, relaxed in my skin, positive, flexible. Nothing seemed so overwhelming anymore. And I had made an important discovery.
I am not sick. I am not depressed. I am not lost. I am freaking stressed out! STILL! It didn't end when the massive sleep-deprivation ended. It didn't end when nursing ended. That rushing river may have passed the rapids, but its current is still powerful and still driving my life in every way. And yet, it's okay because I know where I am now. I'm on this funny little raft in the middle of life, surrounded by the smiling, growing, eager faces of my family. It's crazy and unpredictable and unglamorous here. I'm a little ragged, soaked to the bone, and more than a little bruised. But now I know that its temporary, and when we finally reach shore and the water is calm, the me I miss will still be there. Waiting.
Found.
