The Spirit of New Beginnings

In the spirit of starting something new, I pulled out the journal from 2010, the year of pregnancy and birth! I think its amazing how much more we remember joy than pain. Certainly the magical transformation into a family of 4, and the deep, consuming experience over time of watching new beings become, then falling in love with them is worth every bit of suffering. Here is a snapshot from June 13, 2010.

38 weeks. Nobody thought I’d make it this far! Fat, fat edema makes my legs twice their normal size. They don’t bend. Skin is stretched like an over-full water balloon. Hips last 20-60 minutes lying down before they wake me with an ache or spasm. Can’t really lift my legs- getting dressed, putting my feet up – slow & painful. Skin over my belly has finally rebelled in a mesh of red welts, another growth spurt which feels like an angry army of biting ants crawling across my stomach. Babies are stronger & bigger- bones are calcified. Now their pressure hurts. And, finally, I caught a cold. Total faucet face. Coughing. No, wait. There’s more. A heat wave that has left me limp with wet towels draped on my lobster-skin. …what a lesson in being a vessel. I have so little control.

The boys were born the next day. From the moment they were born, they were distinct. It’s true, they are who they are from that moment on. They just become more so. Baby A was lanky and flexible, curled up in a ball. Baby B was stocky, stretched out like a star. We came up with their names on the fourth day in the hospital, at sunrise, because none of the names we’d picked during the last year fit. Baby B exuded strength and solidness, and had a flair for drama. The name Dylan comes from the ocean, from Bob Dylan (and therefore Dylan Thomas,) and Johnny Drama on the TV show, Entourage, played by Kevin Dillon. Luka was named for how he lit up the room, even then, he was a beacon. He brought the starlight with him. We bought our wedding rings in Lucca, Italy, but we liked the latin spelling better, and it means, “of the light.” We totally agreed on names. It felt serendipitous.

I didn’t write much for a few months except how magical they were, and hard everything else was. “Too tired to eat, to hungry to sleep” was a theme, as was the utter, consuming joy of a baby asleep on your chest. I cried a lot, both happy and not. We were on a 2-hour hamster wheel of nursing, supplementing, pumping, diapers, and sleeping with a 15-minute break to eat, sleep, bathe, and anything else. There was no difference between night and day. And, oh, how I hated that breast pump. I still hate it. I feel a solidarity with cows that gives me the resolve to never, ever eat dairy again. When the babies were about three months old, things started getting more fun with smiles, giggles and those beautiful eyes making contact. I called it starlight. I wrote about doing stretching baby exercises, where “L stretches easily every which way. D is like a stuffed sausage.”

Here’s a bit from when they were 5 months:

When the boys nurse, they lay on a side, snuggled in with an arm tucked under my arm, and one arm free. I rock them to sleep in the same position with a pacifier, face pressed in under my arm. Their free hand sometimes absently rubs my skin, my collarbone, my throat. Sometimes their fingers twine in my hair or rest on my breast. Sometimes the free hand hangs limp, and sometimes it flails around, batting my chest, my face, themselves. I hold that free hand, but they wiggle it free. I’ve learned to offer my thumb without grasping. They find it, and wrap their tiny fingers around it, finding a place to rest. Like a butterfly.

Then, in a different pen, I added:

D is less like a butterfly. More like a June bug.

One thing I would like to capture and keep from those months after giving birth is the hormones. I could sleep on a dime, and I could cry. I felt this incredible openness and connection to my babies that was survival for them, but felt like an abundance of love, love, love to me. I’ve never felt so secure that I was exactly where I needed to be. There is also a rawness to a baby’s gaze, an utter truth and vulnerability that is unknown to itself, and I found myself promising over and over to honor and protect it.

Well, I’ve lost the easy sleep and access to emotions, and I’m not so utterly confident now. But I’m happy to report the love keeps growing. I’m still inspired by that open, honest gaze. I strive to always be able to look into my kids’ eyes with that openness, to be real with them, no matter what. When they’re infants, its easy. When my 4-year-old argues with the guile of a practiced attorney, it’s less so. I can only guess what it will be like when they’re 10. Or 16. Or 20. But it’s a practice, and it’s making me a more open person across the board. Thanks, kids!