The death of Me started happening the morning I woke up and took a pregnancy test. A few days before that my husband and I had a mild disagreement about the purchase of a camcorder. He wanted it, and I didn't think we needed it. After all, we didn't have children - recitals to tape, sports events, etc. My husband and I had been trying to have a baby for a couple of years with no luck. That night I had a dream that my older sister was pregnant and had called to ask if she could borrow my new camcorder to video the birth of her child. I was MAD... dream me, that is. I woke up livid, as I struggled to sort dream stupor from reality. I cried at the thought of never having a child to record with the now-hated camcorder. I decided, for some reason, to take the last pregnancy test in the box - the rainy day test. I had, by that time, seen more minus signs on pregnancy tests than I had ever expected in my newlywed daydreams.
Well, long story short my sister got the first call, because she had been the "jerk of my dreams" the night before. She didn't even know what was coming. That was the day that I started to die. It started with the initial mother-guilt. Cutting back on caffeine and sugar... trying to eliminate processed foods and get plenty of sleep (which wasn't that much of a chore most of the time). The realization that I wasn't the only one my lifestyle choices were effecting was changing me - slowly. I avoided hot baths, saunas, and hot tubs. I even found myself worried to go to movie theaters and concerts - for fear that the loud noise would hurt the baby's developing ears. Every article I read about pregnancy made me more apprehensive about my capabilities as a mother, and the feeling of inadequacy threatened to drown me.
Then my husband asked me to quit my job. Quit my job? Okay - I've always wanted to stay at home to catch up on all my cleaning and watch TV all day. I can do that. The sadness of giving up a job I loved with co-workers I loved - also overwhelmed me. What had been my identity for several years was going away. My ability to identify myself as a working woman and to enjoy the pride of a job well done... gone. Was Me going away too?
When I got diagnosed with preeclampsia and had to quit work early to be on bed rest... when I started to look in the mirror and see twice the woman I used to be... I wondered where Me had gone. Would it be worth it?
As I arrived at the hospital to be induced at 199 lbs. I was thrilled that I hadn't hit the deuce. However, that 140 lb. frame I started with was long gone. I don't think I've seen her since. I think she disappeared along with the girl who could turn down dessert with a, "No thanks, I'm just not a 'sweets person'." As I entered my third day of labor with baby, I was still waiting excitedly for this new change. When they handed her to me, I cried. I was so relieved and happy. (I have cried with all four of my babies' births.) I was waiting for the magical transformation now - to MOM. Super mom maybe? I was supposed to know magically what to do now, right?
My aunt likes to say, "They'll let anybody take one of these home!" That's exactly how I felt. Nurse told me when to bathe the baby. But how? Oh, yeah... the fuzzy recollection of a child birth class I took a few months before this birth... it's all coming back to me. There was the big suit with the huge heavy breasts and big belly that I had hoped my husband would volunteer to wear for sympathy - yeah, right. There were all those other couples too... the older couple. I spent 6 weeks wondering if this was their first - not possible - why were they taking another class? Then the cute ones ... Mr. and Mrs. Perfect. "Is your nursery finished? Of course, my nursery has been done for 5 months. I just couldn't relax until I got all the furniture ordered... blah, blah, blah..." Then the single mom - there with her mom... at least her birthing partner new what it was like to wear the big belly suit. Oh, and then the videos - the scary videos of screaming labor. Is this supposed to encourage me to try natural childbirth? They left me wondering, "Could I just go ahead and get some demerol and an epidural right now? It can't be too soon to be well-prepared." I could remember all of those things, but the bathing lesson? Not a clue. That must be part of me that died.
The first 2 months were pure misery. Some women might tell you those were the best months of their lives. I wouldn't doubt them, but for me... it was pure torture. You name it - all those "helpful" motherly cliches that you hear, "Does she have her days and nights mixed up?" "Does she have the colic?" "You think it's a smile, but it's just gas." I wanted to scream like a maniac that someone had stolen Me. But instead I managed a polite smile and a courteous response.
After those first two months, baby started to do some things. She cooed. She smiled. She laughed. She sat up. She said, "mama". She got her first tooth. "How are you doing?" "Me? I'm fine, but look at her. Look how big she is! Look at her go." She's still going today. Me was continuing to die.
Me still rears her ugly head sometimes. Me is exasperated at a missing new box of pencils. She enjoys watching a toddler play drums with her new drumsticks. Me dislikes lots of background ruckus while on the phone. She loves watching the baby laughing on the floor while big sister blows on her belly to keep her entertained while mom's on the phone. Me is annoyed at the dead flowers in my front flower bed. She is thrilled that the first step in potty training a boy might just be letting him enjoy peeing off the front porch. (We live in the country.)
She is who I want to be. She is the kind of mom I want my children to have. After all, She sees the beauty in the chaos. She values love over perfection, rest over stress, relationships over appearances. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy order, but I have also come to see the value in the tangible reminders that this season of my life and of my children's lives is short. It will come and go in a blink. Me would have us miss out on the joy of it. She beckons me to bask in a the cuteness of a chocolate cheek, the sweetness of a syrup kiss, and a banana-slime handprint on my black blouse. These little "odds" have been the beginning of the end of Me.
I hope She continues to grow and push Me right out. If my own mother and grandmothers are any indication, Me might disappear completely once She becomes a grandma. Today, thank the Lord if you were blessed enough to have had the love of an unselfish mother. Burying Me isn't easy for anybody. What an odd end.
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