I am not myself these days. I can feel the disconnect from the rest of the world, a free floating feeling that takes over. My world has shrunk to my home and my family and my children. I am here, looking out. And it is as it is for every other mother in the world when they bring their second home, but I didn't know it would be this hard.
I am weepy from hormones. I have tracks along my arms from the countless IV sticks they gave me in the hospital. I am bruised and in pain. My back, shoulders and side hurt. It hurts to sit and it hurts to move. My breasts are full and aching and they bleed and split.
When I was in the hospital being induced, I spent the night alone. Mark had gone home to be with Lily. The room was quiet. The nurse came and went nearly silently as I sat and watched TV. I felt myself pulling away from the world, preparing myself for this new time in my life when I will not be as carefree. When I will be more tied down, busy and frazzled. I spent the night alternately crying and rubbing my belly. It was lonely...but it was also a freedom I hadn't had for nearly three years.
I had no idea that the first few days would be like this. I didn't know what to expect, really. I am happy holding my precious son, I am sad watching Lily adjust to this new life. She is my best friend and buddy and I feel as if I have betrayed her in a way. There is a polar opposite dynamic in almost all I do right now, and I am trying to find the balance.
Lily will be okay. She is loving and nurturing and smart. Samuel's needs are easy. But I am wondering if I will ever not be torn between the two and what is best or at the very least, what is not the worst. Am I making sense?
This past month has been a time of upheavals in our home. Mark has a new position which means less travel, but also less flexibility to help me when I need it. His hours are now much more rigid. Our home is on the market. And now a new baby.
I know I am supposed to get on here and tell you how dreamy this all is. But you know what? I can't. I won't pretend. This is not terrible, but it is difficult. I want to be everything to everyone, and it's just.not.possible. In the least. Somebody, for now, will always come up short. Whether it's Lily not getting to go to the park on a beautiful day, or Samuel not getting a bath everyday, there is going to be constant compromise. With Lily I could give 100% everyday. With two, I can only give 50%.
This is like moving through fog, through mist. It's figuring out what life looks like through a veil. There is such love and devotion here, but there is also frustration and sadness that I cannot give all to them both.
Nine days ago our family changed, grew, and became complete. I have never felt more love or more of my soul opening than now at this moment. God is stretching me, moving me to a place where I can grow as a mother and as a person. He is allowing me these feeling of inadequacy and confusion so that I can move to greater clarity. I have no doubt that life will turn, as it always does, and that things will fall into place as they always do. But I cannot say right now that it is easy. It is sacred and beautiful and exhausting and humbling. But it is mine. It is my experience, and my family, and my sweet little girl and my strong son. And together we will figure it all out.
