Showing posts with label postpartum. Show all posts

Marriage, Postpartum Style



70% of females and 56% of males report a decline in marital satisfaction after becoming parents. When I first heard this statistic during pregnancy, I found it quite alarming, but since knowing is half the battle, and since Joel and I had a strong 10-year foundation and were happily married, I naively figured that what felt like a brick wall for most couples would instead be but a speed-bump for us.

It's not the first time I made naive assumptions regarding pregnancy, childbirth, and parenthood.  

  • I am unsure why, when pregnant, I felt the need to assure myself and everyone else around me that I was prepared for all that was to come.  I had a lot of experience with babies and more than anything else I've ever prepared for, felt extremely confident that I would not be surprised by the difficulties.  When I encountered complaining about the work of having a newborn from others, I would assume they didn't have any idea what they were getting into and were surprised by the hardships, therefore making it worse.  
  • I naively assumed that I would retain all the aspects of my personality that I was unwilling to part with during childbirth, namely that of losing time, not being hyper-observant of my surroundings, and feeling proper and modest.

None of these things turned out to be true.  And now, the naive assumption that my marriage would be set apart from the cliche problems has also been challenged.

I married a very loving man, yes because he is the best human being I've ever known and yes because I am attracted to him and yes because he is a good friend, but also because in my deep subconscious, I wanted a man who was safe.  I wanted a man that would, above all else, honor his commitment to not only STAY with me, but to renew our passion for a lifetime, to not just BE married, but to make the marriage good.  This way, you see, I was guaranteed to be impervious to the destruction and derision of an affair, failed marriage, or divorce.  Inside me lives this basic fear that I am unlovely and unworthy of committing to (no doubt residual shit from a father leaving).  I suppose I started with that fear and built a safe structure around it with Joel.  Yes, so I would have a happier and healthier emotional life, but also because I never wanted to really examine that fear and take adult responsibility for dealing with it.  Instead, I married someone who would never make me encounter those fears again. 

So we build these brick structures of assumptions around our fears, thinking they will keep us from destruction.  Through a rough patch in marriage last fall, I learned and am continuing to see the truth that we have to address the hard stuff from the inside out, even if we thought we would never have to deal with these kinds of issues.  We have to get over ourselves and our assumptions that we wouldn't struggle like our parents did or like THOSE people do - the ones we weren't sure should have ever been married in the first place, and the ones we are sure won't make it. Perhaps calling these missteps 'naive assumptions' is a poetic way of disguising nothing more than stone cold pride.

All of this to say, it's been hard.  We have had several inane discussions about domestic roles when we would surely rather be discussing string theory.  We have split up our social lives in order to give the other person a break from the baby when we would absolutely rather be out on the town together, sipping martinis.  We've agreed to spend our money on diapers when we would certainly rather be spending it on a new fall wardrobe.  

But those aren't even the hard things.  Joel put it well this last weekend, during a heated discussion concerning our incompatible social needs, when he said that it's as if we are newly married.  Where once we had to agree who was cooking and who was doing the dishes, we now have to work together to share the duties of having a baby.  We have to work on agreeing on our parenting style...all of which requires words that I just don't have under this amount of physical duress and sleep deprivation. 

In my mother's group, a woman described a time when she and her husband were also struggling with the newborn duties.  She determined to breastfeed exclusively, but would then become angry during night feedings because her husband didn't have to do anything.  He offered to get up, but what was he going to do? Watch?  Good luck staying awake for that.  So they determined that whatever compromise they came to would not necessarily be equal, but it would be fair.  So she asked him to think of something he could do (again, giving him the power to think of the task rather than assigning one), and he offered to have the dishwasher unloaded as well as breakfast and coffee prepared each morning.  SOLD!  This in no way is an equal sharing of work, but to both of them - it felt fair.

Because I had been aware that things were in no way equal, I felt the seeds of resentment planting themselves in my soul.  I continued in this state of feeling distant from each other, not because a baby has come between us, but because we are not the same marriage we used to be.  Once I realized that I didn't really care to be equal, but boy did I care about the division of work feeling fair, we were able to communicate honestly and logistically about how that would work.  

The remedy has been and always will be to talk about it.  To talk long and hard about our expectations, our silly hurt feelings, our sensitivities, our strengths, our sex life, our dating life, and our parental decisions...which can be as stupid and boring as "did you put her pacifier back in or are we not using it?" or as important and charged as "Do you dread coming home to us?" We have to allow for the pace of the other person's transition into parenthood.  We have to say no to friends more often.  We have to preserve family time with a new vigor.  We have to communicate more clearly about schedules and calendars.  We have to protect each other's hobbies and relaxation time.



On evenings when I am not hurdling my pride at being a couple struggling and less satisfied with our marriage after having a child, we just watch "Star Trek." This is okay, we bond over it.  Joel loves it, I love it, it creates a shared love.  

In Picard we trust,




The instant

I am standing in front of the kitchen sink, washing out a bottle like I've done blindly for the last 3.5 weeks.   Quite surprisingly, and just as fleeting an exit as its entrance, some sort of deeply-embedded bliss finds its way to my brain.  "I have a baby."  The backyard is lush and inviting, the perfect summer breeze teasing the wind-chime in just the right timbre.   It was so real.

I blink, and the moment is gone.  I hear Bowie telling me to get ready to nurse, and so back to my duties - which are not without pleasure, but are certainly, at this stage anyway, performed in a rote trance, half asleep, desperate for something unnameable.  Perhaps it's that I know (and maybe feel guilty about) I am more than a mother, that this isn't enough to culminate my existence.  My brain reminds me of this perpetually.  And so I look deeper into the crevasse of personal interest and intellectual pursuits.  What will I find there?  Where have I put those books of poetry?

Ah, false alarm.  She has put herself back to sleep as she knows she doesn't get picked up or rescued at the first sign of dismay. She will lie in her bassinet calmly, her big blue eyes roaming the room, taking in light and shadow, entertaining herself.  She's already a big girl, patient and pure.  She has given me a few moments to write, to understand my rambling self, which rambled into a moment of bliss and then rambled right back out.  



"You lived here?  But it's so beautiful."
"Oui, it was too beautiful for me, I had to leave."
French Kiss




I love the instances of life's awakenings.

I'm on my way, Bowie.
We are doing well together.




dry and dusty

After a week of delightfully hot weather, Seattle gave us a storm this morning.  Thunder to shake your bones and window panes, lightening to remind you of your smallness,  and marvelous, glorious, cleansing summer rain - torrents and torrents of it.


I had to go out in it.  I had to let my dry soul refind its way back to flexibility and grace.  I felt a Victorian-like madness come over me, as if I were Catherine Earnshaw with her crazed hair and soaked petticoats, aimlessly wandering the Moors for something she cannot name.



There are at least two sides to everything. A first, I tilt the camera to capture the radiant light, to show you how the rain illuminates the pink on my fushia.  Then with the slightest movement toward the sky, the fushia goes black, the grays of life come to play.  Same plant.  Same day.

Is it our duty as healthy humans to feel both the dark and the light, simultaneously?  Or is it a matter of knowing they both exist; feeling them is irrelevant.  Maybe we are supposed to dramatically know one today and then tomorrow wake to a new companion of mood.  

It's odd, this staying home stuff.  Yesterday I went to the chiropractor and felt like a new person, just for the interaction of the breeze in my car and the wonderful laides at the office.  I sleep, but the sleep comes in sporatic succession.  Joel and I awkwardly fumble around our new duties, like newlyweds deciding who will do the dishes.  Sometimes, in the dead of night, when I can barely be human, I feel the tears of self pity as I care for Bowie.  Then, even through their misty lens, my eyes see more clearly than ever before what a privildege I have to be with her right now.  My wise friend Leif recently wrote to me, "Remember that she will never be this tiny again.  This applies to every day of her life."  Many parents tell me to enjoy it, that they miss the baby time.  So I try, I really do try hard to be present.  Then I border on self-judgement and just before I fall pray to that angry precipice, Emily reminds me that whatever I am feeling in these next precarious weeks (elation, immense sadness, etc), to not judge it too harshly.  To just let it be, let yourself alone.

My Mum leaves tomorrow, marking the end of our live-in help. Bowie will also be two weeks old tomorrow.  While I dread my mother's absence (you should SEE how clean this house is and how well-fed we've been), I also know it's time.  It's time to test out my wobbly mother-hen legs.  It's time to communicate more vulnerably with Joel, it's time to learn to reach out to the community around me if I need help.  Do keep us in your thoughts.  

To benevolent and wise weather systems,


In one week



I keep reminiscing about this time last week.  What part of labor was I in?  I ask Joel what really happened, what that nurse's name was, how long I labored in the tub. What was going through his mind?  Was it really that much pain or am I remembering gently? 19 hours of labor feel surreal in hindsight.  I ponder all our decisions, were they the correct ones for us?  I feel good about it all.





With sleepy but contented eyes, I take inventory of the week.  Joel's parents stayed with us for a few days, and I never knew how much help we would really need.  From the extra hands to fold new little clothes to the sustaining generosity of others to provide meals, I've been very cared for.  My Mum arrived this morning, and the house is quiet as everyone naps, lulled to sleep by the perfect July breeze as it gently nudges our wind chimes.  Today feels good.  





I love paradox.  In that regard, this baby-mooning is fascinating.  I am continually seeing old items combine with new items.  It feels so strange and disorienting, my new life.  But then I watch Joel cuddle with Bowie, and I read my Victorian novel in the bathtub, and we sip lattes from Zoka...and life feels again as it was, familiar and comforting.  I'll ride the undulating waves of paradox for some time now, and at the best of times, I can be gentle with myself.  At the worst?  Hell, I just sleep as much as I can.  Crying too.  It's so good for the soul.

Bowie is really quite easy and laid-back thus far.  This could be the newborn haze exaggerated by her even earlier birth, but we are still sleeping a lot.  We find that this might be sustainable...full well knowing that next week, she'll change not only the game, but probably all the rules as well.  It is a strange existence, to focus almost solely on making sure a small human is fed, cleaned, healthy, warm, and sleeping.  While all consuming, I still hear my strong mind vocalizing its analysis, grabbing the newness and wringing out all the new lessons it has for me.  Even when I am fully engaged in her, I find the voice doesn't quell so much as combine with hers. I've not found anything profound yet, but I figure new life is in itself profound enough.  Yes, quite profound enough indeed.

To one week of her life leading me into the first week of motherhood.  It's not so bad, except the outfits and all the leaking.