(Lesson learned this morning: Turn on the toaster when you want to toast.)
I have a draft from Monday which begins: “It’s one of the best Monday mornings in a really long time. BOM is happy and content, she slept until 7:30am, and she smiled at me when I change her diaper in a way that melted my heart and made me give her another 1,008,424 kisses.”
Then came the rest of Monday.
At 9pm J is home after a long day at work and an evening meeting. He finds me on the sofa. I am exhausted and on the brink of crying. He holds me, and I whisper what I have been so afraid to admit, what I don’t really want to say: “She exhausts me. Tonight, I had to lay her on the bed, close the door and sit in the room next door and take some deep breaths.” “How long did she lie there?” he asks clearly nervous at the thought of our baby daughter lying on a bed crying like mad and me being in another room. “For a minute or two,” I assure him remembering how loud the crying was and how it cut through the walls and went straight to my heart. “I just needed a minute or two without her in my arms,” I say. “She didn’t calm down until I sat with her in front of the TV and watched a film. Then she fell asleep” I tell him.
Tuesday evening I go for a swim. It is my second excursion to the pool since giving birth. I have always loved the water. I have always loved swimming. I have always loved the ability it gives me to clear my head and feel far away from everything. And this Tuesday evening, I like that it allows me “me-time” and time away from a baby girl who is still the cutest thing ever, but is wearing me out with her current phase.
She is on her father’s arm, crying, when I return, but even though my body is tired and heavy, my eyes about to close, I feel more capable of taking care of our girl than I did two hours earlier.
I text a friend of mine to tell her that BOM and I are coming over Wednesday night when the boys are all off to watch football. She invited us a couple of days ago, but I hesitated and didn’t know what to answer. “If she freaks out, we will just leave and go home,” I tell J – and more importantly myself – when we talk about it, and so I text her to say I am coming. We are taking a chance.