Quiet the Banter

I have this running inner dialogue in my head and I realized today, the dialogue is me trying to work out how to get my thoughts down on paper. In the same way that I have conversations with Lorenzo in my head when I'm away from him, thinking of the ways to share everything I'm experiencing, I work out how I might structure this event or idea into a story or in this case, blog post. This is all a long way of saying, I'm committed to writing more. If for no other reason than to stop this annoying banter in my head.

And I have a lot to think about these days.

I will however focus on only one of those things here, for the sake of time and energy. And that thing would be the surprise visit we had from the stork about 12 weeks ago. It all started when I put the clothes in the dryer and forgot to turn it on. Then I put the kitchen sponge in the refrigerator. Then I fell asleep on the couch at 7:30, fighting to keep my eyes open. It all seemed too familiar. My intuition drove me to the Rite Aid to buy a test, and 5 minutes later, there was no hesitation from that plus sign, not even a lighter color despite the fact that I was three weeks from a missed period. How many minus signs had I seen in the effort to conceive Luca, each one more depressing than the first. And this time, not a one, and that plus sign didn't elicit the elation it did the first time. I was confused, "what is this plus sign? I must be reading it wrong." After two more tests (totaling three, the national average as I found out later from my midwife), the confusion turned quickly to fear.

Having a second baby is, strangely, something you think about from the moment your first is born. After 30 hours of labor, nurses think it makes sense to tell you how easy it will be the second time, as if it's a given. The common phrase, "the next will just shoot out." People start asking you right away, "so, do you think you'll have another one?" It's such a strange question to me, it really makes it seem more like you're raising domesticated puppies than people. But it makes you think, and ask yourself the question, over and over and over. And you start to think about your age, and if you'll ever regret that you didn't have two. And you think about how fun it would be to have a bigger family. You think about how much joy you felt when you held your baby in your arms for the first time and how you'd like to know that feeling again. You wonder if your kid remains an only child, will they be sad that they didn't have siblings? Will you be inadvertently screwing them up emotionally? And all those clothes you saved...could you really just give them away?

You get closer to making the decision, so you get a little riskier in the birth control department. It took so long the first time, we thought, we can take a few risks right? Wrong. One risky adventure and here we are, a bright blue plus on a shiny white stick. Now there will be another person in the world. And as soon as I saw that plus, I panicked and the banter started, "how will I take two small children to the store by myself? How will I work? I can't afford to have two kids in daycare. Oh my god, pregnant again. Shit. My body going through the 40 pound metamorphosis all over again. Breastfeeding. But I wanted to start riding my bike again, we were going to go to Europe, oh my god, we'll never be able to afford to go back with two kids, shit, will my crappy health insurance even cover everything? Oh my god, pregnant again."

Scared. Pure and simple. I am trying to be excited, Lorenzo is ecstatic and reassuring. He said, "there's nothing more beautiful than a pregnant woman." That is of course until my face bloats out around month eight.

I do know this is a beautiful thing, and I will come around. It's just so much harder for a woman who wants to have a career to give birth and nurture a new baby. We really have to be super heros. Our male counterparts can be at our sides during the birthing process and give us emotional support, and then help with diaper changes. But they can also go back to work without having to worry about feeding their kid, or nursing their genitals back to health or recovering from the 40 pound metamorphosis. They can take off three weeks and then go back to their normal lives. But for me? It's so much more complicated. And even if I wanted to pass the burden on, really I can't, I mean I could if I was so career driven that I didn't care about giving my kid formula from day one. But that's not me, I'm career driven and want to be the best mom I can be. I want to give my kid the best start, but that means trying to work around breastfeeding every hour or pumping, which is god-awful. And if I do rush back to work, because I love it, I will feel guilty. Especially because of the way I spent Luca's first year. And there are those pesky social stigmas when you put your kid in daycare.

No answers yet, but I will continue to write and ponder and get advice; as I said, I'm committed to writing for at least the next 7 months. For now, the big question is, how do so many women pull this off? If ever there was any doubt, women are f-ing incredible. We do it all, and most do it really well. At the expense of ourselves of course, but hey we're mothers, we come last. But I was just moving up on the totem pole again...