Bobby is my hero. Literally. I won't write an epic poem, or even a haiku, about him on this blog. I would, however, like to publicly recognize him for a few specific heroic acts he has performed recently:
1. After a terrible 24 hours with James (one hour asleep, one hour awake, repeat), Bobby gave me two nights of nearly uninterrupted sleep. He sent me to bed and took James into the guest room with him. I didn't hear anything from either of them until James was ready to eat. Then Bobby brought him to me, I fed him, and Bobby took him back. Whether James was awake or asleep after the feeding, it didn't matter, I got to go back to bed. I must confess, I cried tears of joy those nights more than once.
2. Since James' birth, Bobby has stepped up in every way: taking care of the older kids, getting Alice off to school every morning, cleaning the kitchen, preparing meals, and taking care of me. He has worked from home or taken a half-day several times just because I seemed a little unstable that morning.
And I am stable today because of Bobby.
I asked him, "Why on earth is it so much harder this time?"
He gently replied, "It's been like this all three times."
"Why don't I remember this? Why do I forget it so readily?"
"Maybe you should write it down this time."
I laughed out loud. He's totally right. So, I wrote down a few things that I would like to remember about this time for the next time I wonder if an Evans baby #4 is in our future.
- Night nanny for the newborn or morning daycare for the older sibling. If I could just manage to get enough sleep, I could handle ANYTHING during the day. Anything. I've known this about myself for a long time. That's why my bedtime is 9 pm, and has been for 10 years. Regular, adequate sleep maintains the logical/analytical firewall that keeps my emotions within normal limits (i.e. sane). Without enough sleep, life's little hiccups become insurmountable obstacles and I plunge into a dark stupor of helplessness. I isolate myself. I stop blogging. I stop feeling happy. The difference between "stable" and "unstable" emotions for me is razor thin. For example, Bobby was 20-30 minutes late coming home from work one night. That's not normally a problem. This day, however, I was a little low on sleep. My thoughts drifted towards the possibility of a bicycle accident, maybe he was in the hospital, or dead, and I would have to raise these three kids alone, move back to Utah to be closer to family, and trudge through the rest of my life without the man I had come to love and depend on so desperately. The terror was real. I was panicking. I kept it together well enough for Alice's sake, but when Bobby actually arrived home I had to go into a back room and cry out all of that fear and vulnerability. That's NOT me. I don't like that feeling. Sleep fixes it. So if there is a next time, I will want a guaranteed time every day or night when I know I can catch up on sleep. For sanity's sake.
- I can't do this myself. That simple statement cannot capture how hard that bruises my psyche...and ego. I have needed more physical help this time around than I could ever repay adequately. I've needed it longer, too. Bobby is my hero, but even the two of us aren't enough some days. Friends and neighbors and strangers have given hours of service through meals, babysitting, rides, play dates, and empathetic listening. It's one month after James' birth, and we are still receiving periodic meals. I feel guilty for being so "weak" at this point. I can't stand to be needy, and yet I am needy. I want so badly to give back. I have certainly gained empathy for people in chronic pain. People have also shown me better ways to serve others in my position. I am determined to help new moms SO much better in the future.
- This was my hardest pregnancy. Remember the weeks of morning sickness lying on the couch? Remember when I barely had the wherewithal to change Robert's soaked and leaking diaper before quiet time? Remember being so tired that laundry, housework, and meal preparation just didn't get done? Remember the floppy pelvic joints? The nerve pain? The utter lack of a comfortable sleeping position? Remember not being able to lift or carry Robert who just wanted to feel close to his mommy for a minute? Remember the long recovery after James' birth? I was in chronic pain for three weeks. I had two weeks of round-the-clock ibuprofen, maximum allowed dosage.
- Demands on me from the kids and house have grown exponentially with each child. I want to remember this fact most of all. Right now, I can't be the kind of mom I want to be. I want to be involved in my kids' lives. I want to listen to everything they want to tell me. I want to play with them and watch them explore. I want to be present with them as they grow. When Robert was born, he was the one I worried about. Now that James is
born, I'm still worried most about Robert. I still don't fully
understand Robert. I want more time to be with him one-on-one and figure
him out. I want more time to be with Alice. She's changing so quickly.
- When Robert was born, my life was turned inside out and I secretly resented him for it. Now, with baby #3, I see that it's the "newborn experience", not the child himself, that I resent. I'm sorry, Buddy, for blaming you all that time. It turns out I just don't handle the newborn stage very well.
I'm recording this just for reference, not for an argument against having more kids. If we decide that another newborn is in our future, then I want to go into it better informed. My memory is not reliable...as I've proven in the last two cases :)
Posts
