Birth and Rebirth

It’s a time of great reflection in our household—well, in my mind anyway. First of all, it’s truly spring, and there’s nothing like the gradual-then-sudden emergence of green things in the yard to bring a sense of hope and optimism to pretty much everything. When I peek outside at the rhubarb and phlox sprouting behind our patio, I can’t help but picture summer afternoons playing on the grass with Julia (townhouse association be damned!) and June evenings sitting on the patio chairs watching the gigantic sky behind our house turn purple.

Last summer was my favorite time with Julia: we spent every day outside in our old neighborhood, alternating playtime in the backyard with jaunts to Sibley Park and Lake Hiawatha playground. Our best buddies Mathea (two months younger than Julia) and her mom Rachel, just down the street, were usually around, and the four of us went on stroller walks and out for breakfast at the coffee shop between our two houses and generally kept each other company. It was truly wonderful. This summer will be different in many ways, but I hope my memory serves me by helping me re-create some of last summer’s magic in our new home. After all, as I’ve mentioned before, this is my last summer alone with Julia before her baby sister joins the family.

But it’s not just spring. Some close friends of ours had their first baby last week--the first couple in our inner social circle to follow us into parenthood--and, especially with another birth of my own only four months away, this event has brought back many memories and emotions. First, there’s the long-awaited relief of, At last! Some of our friends will FINALLY truly understand what it’s like. You know what I mean, don’t you? When your very existence revolves around the life-or-death of hourly nursing, sleep training, and the call of the dreaded breast pump, and your old friends, the ones who don’t have babies yet, stare at you in bemusement and then sort of go on with their own lives without you? It’s nothing badly-intentioned, on either side; it’s just life, but it sure gets lonely after awhile. We have waited almost two years for friends to join us in new-parenthood—with its traumas AND its indescribable joys—and it is, in one way, a great relief to know that some finally have. (Welcome, baby Eleanor!)

But in another way, it’s sort of painful and anxiety-provoking too, because it brings back to mind the awful parts of our own childbirth/newborn-parenting experiences with Julia—things I don’t wish upon anyone. I’ve written about some of this before too, elsewhere. Some of you no doubt have heard about it ad nauseum. (Forgive me, but what good are horrific labor and postpartum stories if not in the triumphant repeated retelling after the fact?) You know: the 60 hours of back labor; the fourth-degree tear; the three ER visits within Julia’s first two weeks of life; the near-mythic postpartum constipation that, combined with the 40 internal stitches I harbored in my nether regions, felt worse than the childbirth itself. The no walking for 10 weeks; the nightly scream-fests (Julia, I mean, not us—though maybe that too) that lasted until 4 a.m. for weeks on end; the baby who nursed for 45 minutes each session, not 15 or 20 like all the books described, only to start up again 45 minutes after finishing the last time--and did this 24 hours a day, for months; the delirium of extreme sleep deprivation; the excruciatingly painful breast infection that just happened to be so rare that only one of my breastfeeding books even mentioned it, and that lasted FOUR WEEKS with no effective treatment. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Who is it that said a mother forgets these things? I haven’t, although I wish I could. I feel as though I still suffer some sort of mild post-traumatic stress disorder related to Julia’s birth, if not also the difficulties of parenting her during her first six months of life (after which she finally, at the very least, began to take some naps, brief and inconsistent as they were).

For my new-mother friend, I send out the strongest possible positive vibes: wishes for no nursing difficulties, for a colic-free newborn, for the rumored miracle of sleeping through the night at an early age (I’ve heard it can actually happen), for little pain and a quick recovery from the delivery, for an easy-temperament baby who naps well. Not to mention for an abundance of good ice cream, glossy magazines to peruse during all those feeding sessions, gifts of pre-made dinners and offers to do the dishes.

For me, I give thanks that, in addition to the memories of what was so hard, I also have the other memories, of course. Surely, you know: the miniscule newborn diapers the size of a mitten; the downy hair—three shades of gold, mixed like an abstract painting—on the top of Julia’s head; the tiny quilted jumpers and the socks like knitted thimbles; the outpouring of love and joy shown to us by our friends, family, and neighbors upon Julia’s arrival; the unbelievable wonder of having brought a new life into the world. Why else, after all, would I be preparing to do all this AGAIN in just a few short months? (Why, indeed?!)

So, renewal and reflection: the name of the game around here. Babies, buds, trees in bloom. As the good Minneapolis boys of local band Semisonic so eloquently put it, “Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end.” Ain't it the truth!

Onward toward a lovely summer and another new baby. And in the meantime, happy spring, everyone!