Post Pardonne-Moi
I should be out at one of two events tonight – one an art event, the other dinner with two girlfriends I’ve know since high school. I had already committed to the opening so I couldn’t do dinner, but here I am, at home, alone(ish) because the toddler is sleeping (oh god, thank you) upstairs.
I bailed on my planned outing (my partner is working late, I was always heading out alone) because I have a case of Post Pardonne-Moi’s. The feelings of this post-baby state of mind can be great, but tonight it’s the downside of mamahood that’s here. I used to love an alone night like this, where you could play music and sing like Streisand and dance like Prince because YOU ARE ALONE, and no one is going to laugh. Tonight’s semi-alone is different. I can’t play loud music, not without waking the kid. Sure, I could listen to something on my headphones, and trust me I have, but that makes one feel somewhat guilty, you have to take the earpieces out every now and again to make sure there’s no other sound beyond you singing. (Read: crying). And then where’s the fun in that?
I had heard and read about the changes a women feels after having a baby – the joy, the tears, the potential for postpartum, the haze of sleep deprivation, the changes in your body. I knew all of those things would touch me at some point – something so small (omg it’s a kitten) would make me weep and some things not so small (omg he’s finally asleep) would make me wail. I thought my body would bounce back to some semblance of before with a little bit of dedicated workout time. I could deal with my body. The solution was simple enough to me – sleep, eat well and move, and the body, thought not in top form, and full of aches that I still attribute to lack of consistent workouts and regular sleep, will be ok.
My mind though is altogether different. I didn’t think much about how my mental state would be altered when I took on the role of mother at this stage in life. I’m of the age where motherhood could have slipped into the past tense of ‘could’veness’. I’d had a miscarriage before my son was born, each month my body carried him in the first trimester and even well into the third, I didn’t know (as you just don’t) what the future would entail.
My son is healthy and radiant. He is growing, learning, laughing. Clambering, chatting, testing. We sing, we play, we row-row-row the boat, we splish and splash in the bath. When I put him down for the night I often fade into a slovenly slouch. This happens sometimes before but usually not until after the kitchen has been cleaned and things are tidied enough to have a modicum of respect for our living room space. I’ve learned to ‘let go’ of my predisposition to OCD when it comes to order and cleanliness in our home. I am, mostly too tired. I work, I write, I parent.
Tonight Post Pardonne-Moi has taken over. Tonight’s theme: Invisibleness. I felt invisible in the first year of motherhood even thought I took up more space in the world – me and him – it’s not inconspicuous to travel with a baby. I showered; I brushed my hair, sometimes I put on make-up. I went out to events and dinners with friends and yoga and sometimes I ran. But all in the fog of jetlag. I was present, but not really. Anything not related to babies felt foreign and like somehow a decade of cool and innovation passed while I was at home, alone (sort of) with a newborn.
Pre-baby my identity was strongly tied into my work. And then, swoosh; I got on a carpet and that disappeared. I take this as mostly a good thing. I wanted to leave my all-too time-consuming job. But still I enjoyed a great deal about work – the social connection and my sense of worth was definitely embedded in my work life. Now I straddle multiple identities and feel like I’m not doing anything very well. Is this what parenthood is like? Don’t answer that. It is, isn’t it? Sometimes.
Tonight I lost out on a contract. Not because I’m not good, or because I’m a mother. But because I’m a mother, and my nights are sliced into hour-long task-oriented bits, I am behind on getting certain work (writing) done. That work (writing) drives me, it makes me feel whole. I have to say goodbye to a contract that wasn’t even fully mine (nothing was signed). It could have happened regardless of whether or not I had a child, I know that, but I can’t help connect it all together. Kid = less time to write = more time to laugh and love and learn. Stricter time management = less time with the kid = work and income and ? What?
Tomorrow I’ll go for a run and appreciate the sloth-like evening I’ve had. Tonight I can appreciate the fact that the boy went to sleep on his own, without tears. And that instead of cleaning the kitchen I just sat down and wrote. Tomorrow, I’ll open the door and feel the cold air on my face and take the boy to swim class and say Post Pardonne-Moi? Whatever. I’ve got work to do, and the pool awaits.
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