"So I am often awake these days in the hours before the dawn, full of joy, full of fear. The first birds begin to sing at quarter after five, and when Sam moves around in my stomach, kicking, it feels like there are trout inside me, leaping, and I go in and out of the aloneness, in and out of that sacred space."
-Anne Lamott, Operating Instructions
October 12, 2013
Whenever I am feeling lost or overwhelmed or sad or scared, I turn back to Anne Lamott. Her books are darkly funny, deeply poignant touchstones that help me back to a place of belief that the universe is generally good, that humans are generally well intentioned, and that if I keep my eyes open and try to let things unfold as they should, that my life will generally work out. I started re-reading her book Operating Instructions last week. It's about her first year as a single mom, an older single mom who didn't ever plan on being a single mom. She struggles, alot. And everyone survives. And thrives. She falls in love with her baby, even though he is sometimes awful and downright detestable. Helps arrives, even when it is too hard for her to ask, and she accepts it even when it is too hard to accept. She is scared about money all the time. She is scared she will ruin her baby. She is a mom.
I went out of work last week because of terrible sciatica. The acupuncturist suggested that the two hours of sitting in the car, 3-4 days/week was the problem (I mean aside from the 10ish lbs of baby/placenta/fluid crushing my sciatic nerve) and I suspect he is right. The only problem is, I am using my 5 measly days of sick time this week, and will have to start using my precious 2 weeks of saved vacation time that I was planning on using to have 8 measly weeks of postpartum leave instead of just 6. Or I can take unpaid leave, aaaand not pay rent, I guess. Already my needs and baby's needs are in conflict. It's a horrible feeling. I am disappointed in my state and my country and my work...all of whom participate in the maternity system that seems designed to create poor pregnancy outcomes, depressed moms, sick babies, and breastfeeding failures. I am so conflicted. This last week was the first week where I have been really, truly uncomfortable. And that discomfort makes me exhausted. If I don't rest, I ache. And when I ache, I can't sleep. It's a rotten cycle, that is totally solved by having time to rest during the day. Which I am more than welcome to... at the cost of my postpartum leave pay. I have to decide this weekend if I want to try and work next week, and I really can't seem to hear the answer, no matter how hard I listen.
The funny thing is, that while there is a solution, (I mean beside winning the lottery that I don't play, or for money to mysteriously drop out of the sky and into my bank), which is for the baby to come by Tuesday, I can't find any space in me that wishes for that. This pregnant time is too precious, too singular, too sacred to rush. This may be it for me and I refuse to diminish it by wishing it away for conveniences sake. Not that it matters what I want, it's all up to her anyway. But, I want her to feel, to know, that she is welcome in me, that until she is ready mi casa es es her casa. Linger, enjoy, grow, stretch, gather your strength and courage, rehearse your lines, practice your scales, and enter only when you are ready. (OK, but please before 42 weeks because I will FREAK THE FUCK OUT if I end up in an operating room. For reals.)
And so I continue to enjoy going in and out of the aloneness, the trout leaping about inside me, the knowledge that I am providing a safe growing space for this new person, even the laying in the dark at 4:45am wondering if I should move, eat, pee, read, or pray that I fall back asleep.
No comments:
Post a Comment