unpacking the unhappiness
What did I expect it would be like? I knew it would be hard, but I didn't realize that most of the time I would feel so isolated, annoyed, lonely, discouraged, conflicted, guilty, and wrought with self-pity.
Oh but it's been such a hard week or so. My resources are depleting from this new (non)sleep schedule Bowie has decided upon (which, of course I feel is somehow my fault - LOGIC, please kick in!). This combined with Bowie needing more of me (teething, bored, frustrated, sick, separating) has made for a aching unhappiness in my soul. It's so confusing being so glad to have a child and be entering this stage of my life and simultaneously unable to find pleasure in the work required by it.
Shouldn't I be enjoying this more? Why can't I enjoy this more? What is wrong with me? I want to enjoy this time, I really, really do. What factors can assist me in enjoying it more? More play-dates? More exercise? Going back to work? Relinquishing myself entirely over to motherhood instead of going to the extreme trouble to find balance? Should I write more? Should I call my friends more? Should I hire a nanny for a few hours a week? Should I eat more greens?
My being is racked with questions like these and friends, I am so tired.
It wasn't until I was rocking quietly with Bowie today, singing her a song as she contentedly sucked her thumb that I experienced a moment of clarity, finally able to get a small glimpse of the beauty of what is happening to me. This ache of unhappiness is not discontent with life, but it is severe birthing pains. I am becoming a mother, and the process of becoming feels more like the tearing I felt in childbirth than the gorgeous visual I saw in "Cosmos" depicting the evolution of the human race. Where did I get the romantic notion that evolving is clean and contained? It's so so messy inside of me right now, and millions of creatures have gone through millions of years of severe pains to become who they are today. Like in childbirth, perhaps I will find some peace when I stop fighting the pain and begin to give myself over to its spiritual and important purpose. I don't get to be who I once was. What the hell am I fighting so hard for? Why the hell is it breaking my heart so much?
I suppose a certain amount of melancholy is necessary when a chapter is over and a new one begins.
I suppose it's natural to feel this way.
I suppose many parents can relate.
I suppose I should be gentle with myself.
A few nothings:
(because if I don't tell someone they will fall into the ether of solitude and I'll question the reality of my existence)
I made a bitter cup of coffee today. I'm toying with the new aeropress +Joel gave me for Christmas, and for the most part it is easy to pull a sweet shot. I think the grind must have been too course because this cup is bitter and weak.
I cut my finger pretty badly last night while chopping parsley for our shrimp scampi. The nail protected me from perhaps severing the tip of my pointer finger, but now I have a bruised nail.
Today, I would be happy to do several items on my list, but I think I will force myself to be satisfied with making banana bread and MAYBE writing a letter.
I've decided to be more consistent about daily walks. Plus, it's sunny today. We'll walk to get more coffee, as I have just depleted the last of my supply.
Bowie has graduated from a baby bath to the actual tub, and she loves it. I love that she loves water.