Babies and Marriage

I had a lot to worry about while pregnant with Ezra.  The last four months of my pregnancy were ruled by lists.  Things to do, things to buy, things to put together, things to make Jason do, recipes to make and freeze, classes to take, appointment dates.  Sometimes I felt so overwhelmed looking at my giant yellow legal pad, that I'd write things I already did just to cross them off my list:  Drink water.  Pee.  Take the dogs to the dog park.  Put gas in the car.  Eat bacon.  Pee. Often times, people would make suggestions for what to put on my list.  Get a pedicure when you're 39 weeks pregnant, a friend suggested.  Read a book about breast feeding and get a really long iPhone charger, another friend added to the list.  "Sleep now! Because you won't be sleeping again for a long time," came out of the mouth of every jackass and her sister.  And a few times, "Guard your marriage, because a baby is really going to do a number on it."

I admit, I didn't add that last one to the list.

My husband and I dated for five years.  We moved in together only after we were married and spent the first year learning how to live together and be patient with one another in our 5 square foot apartment.  The next four years were lots of love and laughter, joy, and a solid foundation for a family.  Soul mates, best friends, husband and wife.  What's more, Jason and I spent almost two years trying to make our little turnip, and leaned on one another through what was one of the hardest times of our lives.  If we could get through that, we could get through anything.  I was worried about a lot of things, but my marriage wasn't one.

At 38 weeks pregnant, I had several moments of anxiety where I changed my mind.  I love my husband so much, I didn't want that phase of our lives to end.  I didn't want to bring someone else in the mix when what we had was so perfect.  I didn't want to give up weekends sleeping in and cuddling, movie night on the couch, and lunch dates at La Parilla.  I tried to savor those moments right up to the end--even when I was hot and uncomfortable and wanted that little hot box of a baby out of me.

And then he arrived and as any new mother will tell you: chaos.  Just pure chaos.  I've mentioned those first two weeks with a newborn--but it cannot be overstated.  Chaos.  You don't know who you are, you don't know who your husband is.  You look in the mirror and you think, "WHAT THE HELL?" and you wonder aloud "What have I become?" and "What have I done?"  The only thing you can do is survive.  You're doing everything and nothing all at once, just trying to survive.  And after two weeks, you take your first breath of air since you pushed that baby out, and you think, "Okay.  I can do this."  But even then--it's just survival.  Nothing else.  Just survival.  You're doing what you can to keep yourself and your baby alive and that's it.  I should note here that this is why freezer meals are a God send.  If you're pregnant or know someone who is pregnant, make them something they can throw in the crock pot.  Because crock pots are how new moms and dads survive.

My day consisted of bottles, diapers, crying (from me), crying (from him), attempting to nurse, laundry, washing bottles, maybe 5 non-consecutive hours of sleep, eating a dry Eggo waffle over the sink like a rat, rinse, repeat, all day every day.  Every third day, I'd thrust Ezra into Jason's arms so I could have five minutes to hose off the important parts in the shower and roll some deodorant under my arms.  The other two days, I kept a stack of clean underwear next to the toilet and some body mist on the tank.  I'd place Ezra in the bouncer in front of me and sang a little song that went like this: "Spritz, spritz, good enough.  Clean underwear, good enough."  I never thought I'd get here, but I can actually look back and laugh about those early days.  I can laugh about the things I worried about, the stupid things I did in my sleep deprived, delirious state. 

Okay, five paragraphs in, and I still haven't gotten to the point.  The point is that I forgot about my husband and my marriage.  I didn't have time to mourn our old lives and certainly didn't have time to ask Jason how his day went.  Before Ezra, I didn't understand what people meant when they said a baby will do a number on your marriage.  It is, yet isn't an overnight thing.  It's a gradual chipping away at your ability to care and love.  It's how you used to casually, absentmindedly scratch him behind the ears, but now, when you're not holding a baby, you just want to sit on your side of the couch and enjoy not soothing someone.  It's how you feel so unlike yourself, so unsure of every decision you're making that you can't bring yourself to ask and listen and care about how your spouse is feeling.  It's your husband, watching his wife, who has only had eyes for him for the past decade, suddenly feel out loved and cast aside in place of a tiny person who he loves, too, and can't begrudge.

And then when Ezra was 8 weeks, we sat on the floor of our bedroom and took turns holding him and coaxing him to laugh and coo at us.  As Ezra enjoyed the view of the ceiling fan above us, Jason said, "I didn't think it would be like this.  People told me, and maybe I kind of knew, but I didn't know.  I feel so distant from you, like you don't even look at me anymore.  I'll talk to you sometimes, and you don't even respond.  I'll walk into a room and you don't see me.  You don't touch me, we don't talk anymore, you're just so consumed by Ezra.  I knew you would be, but I didn't know."  And I didn't really respond.   In fact, I didn't actually hear what he said, until I replayed it in my head before bed.  And my first response was anger.  Duh, I'm not listening to you!  I'm so tired and I cry all the time and I'm barely keeping myself alive.  I don't even know who I am.  I haven't known who I am for a while, now.  I can't worry about you.  I'm trying to keep myself from falling to pieces.  I'm putting my own oxygen mask on, and when I get it on, then I'll assist you with yours.

"Guard your marriage, because a baby is really going to do a number on it."

In the morning, I softened.  How would I feel with the roles reversed?  And we can't live like this.  We can't have a house, where 1/3 of the family is feeling unappreciated, left out, and ignored.  Me ignoring him wasn't going to be the new us.  I never thought we were going to be one of those couples who struggled once baby arrived.  Hearing him say we had problems was tough, but a needed reality check.  We can't (and don't want to!) undo the new person in our lives.  So how do we create a new normal?

I function by lists.  So I pulled out that yellow legal pad (which now had eat, wake, sleep schedules for Ezra on about 20 of the pages).  Here's the actual list:

-Notice one thing he's done to help with the baby, and tell him.
-Ask him, and listen, about his day.
-Do something nice for him (buy him new pens at the store, buy him M&Ms, make him chicken tortilla soup).
-Plan an at home date.
-Hug him, every morning and every night.  A good hug.
-Thank him for doing the a.m. feeding and emptying the dishwasher.


It probably sounds so stupid that I had to make a list or that I forgot to love my husband, but I did.  And at first, it was hard.  I was tired and I didn't want to do any of the the things on the list.  If I had a rare free moment, I wanted to shower or sleep or just sit and be.  But as I checked the items off my list each day, they became a part of my routine and I remembered that I love him and it magically became easier to ask him to hold the baby so I could actually shave my legs.  And we laughed hard like we used to in bed reading textsfromyourex and yourshittyfamily and his favorite posts of the day on Reddit.  We risked dates, because they were important, with our unpredictable baby (that's not true--he's pretty predictably awesome all the time).  I was genuinely excited when he came home from work and so appreciative when he folded all the laundry in the dryer and put the bottles on the drying rack. 

Our new normal isn't much like our old normal.  Babies do change everything.  And it turns out that anxiety I felt while pregnant was valid and the need to mourn our old lives was important.  But once we got over that hump, the new normal is actually better.  Granted, we're only 16 weeks out from turning our whole lives upside down and we're still learning to adapt and put the pieces back together.  But if we don't guard our marriage, take stock, and reconnect, we could easily find ourselves downstream. 

Back to Work

The end of the year also brought the end of my maternity leave.  As January 5th approached, I tried not to think about it, but it kept creeping closer and closer until it was the night before I went back to work and I was shaking with anxiety, overpacking my car with all the things Ezra would need in my office.

I cried the whole five minute drive to my school.  I spent the day trying to juggle Ezra and the emails I needed to answer, and it didn't work, so I cried some more.  I tried to be okay with leaving Ezra in the classroom, but within the first few minutes, an overly excited child tossed a foam block into the air and nailed my sweet baby in the head--which caused tears for the both of us.  My sweet Emma came by to ask me how it was going, and I cried some more while choking out, "It's so hard."  And being a mom, and one of my best friends, and the most empathetic person I know, she knew exactly what to say.  I still cried.  All of that is because crying is what I do now.  Now that I have a baby, the waterworks just won't shut off.

I've done this a thousand times with other moms.  I've seen them struggle to drop their babies off on that first and second and third day, week, month.  I've seen them cry while peeking through the observation window at their giggling babies.  I've answered their emails and phone calls, "just checking in!" and talked them down from the ledge.  I heard them when they said, "I can't do this.  Maybe this isn't for me.  Maybe I should quit my job.  I can't quit my job!  I don't know what to do!"  And I said the right things and gave them big hugs, and called to let them know it was going well--and took pictures of their babies so they'd know that it was all smiles.  So I thought it would be different for me, especially since I could have him any time I wanted, visit him, kiss him, see him, even wear him all day.  And maybe it was easier than most, but still not easy.  I spent the last 15 weeks holding Ezra to my chest, instinct telling me exactly what he needed at any moment.  I spent my whole days devoting 100% of my attention to the tiny extension of my heart.  And now the thought of relinquishing one. single. minute. to anyone, even teachers I know, and hired, and trust is enough to make me vomit.  The dull ache in my chest still feels heavy and achy.  Tonight, I think, worst of all.

Ezra's first nap without mom.  :(

We're four days into this new adventure, and tonight was the hardest night.  We had a total of 15 minutes to cuddle before Ezra became exhausted and cranky and extremely ready for bed.  We didn't get cuddle time on the couch.  We didn't get bath time where we sing at each other.  We didn't get before bed baby massage.  And we only got about 45 seconds of cuddle time in the rocker before He was out like a light.  I miss him.  It's hard to believe this time last week, I was unshowered and exhausted from running the daily baby care marathon.  And without that daily marathon, there is a hole in my heart.  So I held my sleeping baby and tried to stop my chin from quivering before bursting into huge, ugly, heaving mom-tears.  Cathartic. 

Being a mom is so hard sometimes.  It's so beautiful and rewarding and soul warming, but it comes with endless guilt, large emotions, and that ache.

I'm told all of this will get easier.  Maybe it will.
There are some joys.

I let Jason read Ezra's daily report from his teachers and he said, "Ezra did circle time!?  That's so funny!  What is circle time?"  When I explained that he probably sat in a teacher's lap and sang songs and watched a lot of one year olds dance around, Jason clapped his hands and laughed and seemed so genuinely excited for Ezra.

When I walk into his classroom (every hour!) and see my smiling baby, who is so entertained watching all the big kids and cuddling my friends/his teachers, my heart warms.

And if I'm being honest, it's nice to remember what alone time and personal space feels like.  It feels good to know I've accomplished something at the end of the day.  If I had the financial choice, I'd choose to stay home and watch The View.  But the alternative, working at my sweet school, isn't so bad and I'm so lucky to work five feet away from my sweet coconut.

Still, there's an ache, a hurt, a heart flutter that even illegally obtained Xanax cannot fix.

Grace

If you asked my closest family and friends to describe me, they'd come up with a whole slew of adjectives.  I imagine ones like boisterous, abrasive at times, funny, judgmental, harsh, giving, unemotional, biting, loyal.  But graceful?  No.  Graceful would never be uttered when describing me.  In fact, if you asked me a year ago, I probably couldn't even give you an accurate description of what grace is.  And surely, it showed. 

On New Year's Eve 2013, a cup of urine changed my life.  As I sat on the edge of the tub, watching that second pink line appear, I felt such an overwhelming feeling of divine grace.  For two years, I wanted that second pink line.  Every night, for two years, I prayed for that line.  And as my shaking hands held that white stick, I couldn't help but thank God for His grace.  And then, of course, the whirlwind began.  I flung our bedroom door open and showed my husband the line and a nine month celebration began and our sweet son was born and everything we've ever wanted was ours.  But in the back of my mind there was an echo.  Grace.


I can't remember where I heard it--but I once listened to a speech, or a sermon, or read a blog where someone said all his life, he wanted God to help him control his temper.  He would drive down the road, someone would cut him off, and he'd yell obscenities and carry the anger with him all day--so at night he asked God to take that anger away from him.  But does God just cure you, or does He give you the opportunity to control your temper?

For me, it's grace.

It started with that second pink line, but all year, I had the opportunity to experience grace--though I didn't quite know it.

When a friend let me down, I had the opportunity to be kind, when I didn't want to be.
When an acquaintance made some strange and unkind observations about the possibility of miscarrying, I had the opportunity to be forgiving, when I wanted to be sarcastic and ugly.
When I watched a family members argue, I had the opportunity to speak love where contributing would have been easy.
When my husband expressed neglect after our new baby, I had the opportunity to be empathetic and self reflective, when complaining about tiredness and preoccupation seemed valid.

So that's what grace has meant for me.  It means being generous to those who don't deserve it.  It means showing kindness when you want to bite.  It means forgiving and bringing love to the table.  Above all, it means loving as God has loved us.

As I grow older, I'm more and more convinced that you earn the gifts God gives you.

So tonight, we toast to the opportunities.