Thoughts at the End of September

I've tried to update this blog for months now. There's so much to record, I can't fit it all in, nor do I know if this is even the proper venue for recording all that I'd like to keep. It's been a month full of all kinds of thoughts, and they contradict each other constantly, so writing down any one thought feels sort of dishonest since I'll likely be thinking a contrary thought in the next moment.

So let me just get some stuff out there so I can move on in this blog and stop feeling like I have to play catch-up whenever I want to say something.

You can't tell here, but his eyes are steel blue.

#1—I Had a Baby

Our Bonnie Prince Charlie either came late or right on time, depending on which due date you think was accurate. Two days before I went into labor, he made a royal flip (that I felt, in the middle of the night) and decided he'd try to come feet first. The doc gave him 24 hours to change his mind and right himself, but I went into labor before this change and before we could schedule the necessary C-section.

A tender mercy: I went into labor literally one hour after my mom showed up. My sweet mom, whom we all thought bought a plane ticket way too late, that surely the baby would be three weeks old by August 8th, but who came right on time after all. 

Mom played with Hollie for a few glorious days, just the two of them: Grandma Hollie and Little Hollie. It couldn't have been more perfect; they couldn't have more cute together. She was a million times better behaved for Grandma than she ever is for us.

Dave and I went to the hospital at midnight on August 8, and I had a C-section at 3:00 a.m. on August 9. My water broke as they wheeled me into the operating room. It was maybe the most uncomfortable and freaked out I've ever been. The spinal block calmed me down, even though it made my arms spasm uncontrollably (I hear that some women have their arms restrained with belts—I'm glad I didn't, even though it was unnerving to see my hands flopping about like fish out of water).

David loved wearing surgical garb. He looked like Jack Shephard from Lost and kept making Jack faces and saying Jack lines to keep me calm and entertained ("I don't believe in miracles, John!" "I need to bury my dad!" "I'm a surgeon, not an anesthesiologist!").

Dave reading Ryan North's Choose-Your-Own-Adventure version of Shakespeare's Hamlet, To Be or Not To Be. It came in the mail the day I went into labor. It is brilliant and funny and made the sleepless nights more manageable. Note how properly disheveled we look. And note the bright sunflowers my doctor brought for me from her own garden.

Finding out I would need to have a C-Section was hard to swallow. It felt a little bit accusatory, like, "You aren't a real woman with a body who can handle having a baby. We need to help you. Also, if this were the medieval times, you would be a dead woman. Thanks and here's your bill." But fortunately my doctor is lovely and I also had lovely friends and family shower me with support and advice. It was all worth it when they finally pulled Charlie out (feet first, after all, just upside-down) and announced his boy-ness. (Also, David saw my uterus outside of my body. He probably doesn't want me publicly announcing this, but I can't help myself. It's too weird. It deserves utterance. Also, he said he wasn't going to look but then he did anyway.)

#2—I Love Being a Mom

Charles Roscoe has been a pleasure and a joy. The boy sleeps in his cradle at night! He still wakes up for feedings, but it is nothing like the 24-hour trade-off schedule that Hollie had us on. David and I took turns for six months taking turns holding her all day and all night, watching obscene amounts of Netflix (and way too many episodes of How It's Made and My Name is Earl). 

Chaz eats like a speed demon and then falls right back to sleep. I'm less anxious this time around, so I feel like I am enjoying his babyhood more than I did with Hollie. I loved Hollie as a baby, but I was so scared and panicky, especially at nighttime. Now I just feel sleepy-drowsy and hungry at night. I feel a lot more relaxed, and he really is such a good baby. He's easy to pacify, he rarely cries. He smiles at me every morning. It's lovely.

And Hollie is hilarious. I can't believe she's almost two, and I promise to devote a whole post to her on her birthday. Suffice it to say that she keeps us entertained and on our toes. She hasn't tried to kill Charlie yet, either, which is nice. She has such a big personality that I spend the day thinking of her as a fellow adult, a child, and a baby all at once. I love 'em. I love these crazy kids.

#3—I Wish I Were a Better Mom

I found myself wondering these past two days whether I am a stay-at-home mom or not. Our kids don't go to daycare. David and I split the work 50/50 or 50/50ish. We both spend some time on campus and some time at home during the days. So are we both SAHMs? Are neither of us?

Dave's been sick for two days, so I've been the sole baby-wrangler except for when he swooped in this morning to change Hollie's poopy diaper and swooped in again tonight to put her to bed (David doesn't really know how to be sick). It's been hard. I can't believe how often I take for granted putting Charlie in Dave's hands while I go for a run (or even go to the bathroom). I suddenly feel guilty for realizing how hard it is to do a thing that many of my girlfriends do full-time everyday.

So I wonder...am I not so great of a SAHM?

There's more I could say here about a lot of things. I consider myself a feminist, but this has been a pretty loaded word, especially in my church of late. I look at Hollie, who is picking up on the stuff of life like some kind of psychological kleptomaniac, and I wonder how to instill in her both the values of a feminist and the values of a stay-at-home mom (again...am I a SAHM? Isn't there some kind of online quiz or something I can take that will tell me?). Or if not a SAHM, then something close. 

I want Holls to feel both limitless and reasonable. I want her to feel free but to also recognize the ideologies we all subscribe to in order to function in American society. I want her to rebel and concede, to socialize and be independent, to question and to believe. I want her to be faithful and skeptical all at once, even though these traits often bring my own heart and soul into anxious turmoil. 

I don't want her to feel anxious turmoil. I don't want her to worry. 

I want her to be all confidence and all humility. I want her to know herself but to never be so cocky or self-assured to admit it.

I also don't want to hold her to any of these expectations, because I never want her to feel that I'm disappointed in her.

So that's where I'm at. 

I had another baby. I love my babies. I don't know what's best for them or how to be what's best for them.

And those are my thoughts here at the end of September.