In the silence between the last post and this, many things have happened. Cece is almost four months, a chubby little ball of drool and giggles and poop. We got married. A three word sentence that still looks incredibly strange. Life is still a continual trip down a rutted road, bouncing us along. The view is incredible, but I am exhausted.
For one thing, I still don’t know where myself went. Cece sucks me dry, both literally and figuratively. From the moment she wakes us up in the morning (too early) to the last flutter of her (ridiculously long) eyelashes at night, she dominates our entire existence. I am so intensely in love with her, but I am also mourning my independence, my self. I still need to find out who I am with her on my hip, in my heart. Sometimes it feels like I’ll never figure it out, but I have plenty of examples of wonderful women with full lives and full selves. So I just have to believe I will get there. Every so often something will happen that feels like a small step back towards me. But it’s a new me, and I am slowly starting to recognize her.
I know that I am incredibly lucky to be able to stay home with her. Money is tight, but we agree that it is worth the sacrifices. And I have never been the sort to find my validation and self in the jobs and careers I have had — quite the contrary, I have always worked begrudgingly, with a not too small dash of spoiled reluctance. I know it. I own it. I am a head-in-the-clouds, starving-artist-wannabe with a loathing of nine-to-five. Yeah yeah, special snowflake withers away in a cubicle, yadda yadda. I know how it sounds. I think James was so quick to agree with our current situation because he was sick of me coming home every evening in melodramatic tears.
But despite my abhorrence for the regular grind, I have been trying to pull my weight and, at the same time, recapture some sense of normality. I stupidly signed up to be a vendor at our local art market, neglecting the fact that I have absolutely no time in the day to create. There are two more markets this year and I would love to make some money off the holiday gift buyers, but I just don’t know if I will have the time. I think that is what kills me the most — not being able to create, to sew. It was such a huge, huge part of my life until literally the moment I went into labor. And then, poof! Gone. But not, because there is my sewing machine and there are the piles of fabric and there are all of the things I was working on — there they are, taunting me. Hi, old friends.
Moms, how do you do it? How do you recapture all of the things that made you you? Cece won’t nap anywhere except on my chest. She has to be touching me at all times at night, too. There is the odd time I can slide her off me and get a quick fifteen minutes of pattern cutting, but it is never longer. She wakes up screaming and I am near beside myself too. Sometimes I think the frustration will slay me.
The older she gets, the easier it gets. Small, tiny, minuscule steps towards something resembling normalcy. I can only hope that our new normal will include time and space for me.