"Time Off": A conversation about maternity leave. . .

I am on maternity leave. This "time off" has been passing week by week, yet somehow I still feel like I am floundering a bit in finding my direction with it. I am awkward in it.
An example of this is how I have lived the past 20 minutes.  I made lunch and sat down. Miriam was resting by herself. Then I decided to it would be nice to watch something on TV, I started and stopped 3 different movies. The first with subtitles, that won't work because I can't look at screen while nursing, etc., the second was too violent, the third I started and was just getting into when Miriam wanted to nurse. I nursed her, then she threw up, pooped through diaper. I changed her and kept trying to watch the movie. Then I finished my lunch. Miriam was falling asleep on me and then I remembered I wanted to practice my baby massage on her while Nori was napping still. She wasn't into the massage, and started to cry. I couldn't have her wake up Nori, so I stopped. But I didn't want to redress her in case I could do it later. I stopped the movie, but put some music on to keep Miriam soothed. I held Miriam, made a cup of tea, and attempted to read my book. Miriam fell asleep and I thought I "should" write on blog, so I transferred her to the couch.

I long for a guide to navigate me through this time. Something to help me manage the "wants", the "shoulds", the "need tos" that are in my head.
One voice says take care of yourself- watch movies, read books, drink tea.
Another says enjoy the newborn and do extra "super mom" stuff- learn baby massage, hold her for her naps, take her photo.
There's also the productive voice that tells me to put Miriam down if she's sleeping and do the laundry, clean out a cupboard, pay the bills.
This is all on top of  the requirements of the day that can't be avoided- feeding everyone, changing diapers, taking Nori to the potty, dressing ourselves.

So, you can see it can be a bit schizophrenic, this maternity leave thing. Which voice do I follow? There is no boss or deadline or way to measure my days. Just me, my voices, and these two crazy kids. Every day. All day.
The outside voices of others say,  "Enjoy your time off." or "Hope you're getting a lot done." or "You won't have time off like this again until you're retired." Although there are all well meaning,
these comments are anxiety producing for me because I fear- am I doing it right? They all emphasize how fast these time is going, which I realize and causes even more anxiety. Am I enjoying her enough? Am I resting enough? Am I getting enough done?
Of course all this "time off" is through the lens of sleeplessness and a good bit of hormonal instability. I was talking about my misdirection in this season with a friend this morning and she asked me to look at my time like a pie chart.
If that's the case, I would wager that 40% is spent in required activities- feeding, dressing, diapering, potty time, dishes. These we must do to survive. Another 10% is spent doing house stuff- laundry, cleaning, organizing. These things don't "have" to be done but if I don't do them I would be living in pig sty and really lose my sanity. That leaves 50% of my time to choose how to use.
 I would guess I spend 20% enjoying Miriam's newborn-ness,  playing with them both, or Nori centered activities. The other 20% I do things for me: naps, tea,friends, exercise, coffee (actually this should be under  the required survival category)books, movies.
That leaves 10%.
This is the time I am trying to make "count." I have thoughts of how I wish I could write and publish a  book on this topic of maternity leave during maternity leave to help other women. (Yes, sleeplessness causes unrealistic visions of grandeur.)  I should be making all my christmas gifts, canning applesauce, and cleaning out cupboards. I can feel unnecessary guilt at not tackling these. This would be one of my main topics in my book- let go of quilt and any desire to be accomplished:)

I had my 6 week postpartum check yesterday. It was nice to have a chance to sit and process Miriam's birth. To pause in all this "doing" to realize- a being, a LIFE, came through me and into our home and hearts. Regardless of how I am spending my days (and nights,) this is the highest calling- to be aware of the divinity all around me.To be present.
May this voice to "be present" be louder than all the others. Whether working at a job or on maternity leave, my family (me included) is not something to be managed- but enjoyed.
So as the day comes with all of its shoulds, wants, and have-tos, I hope to be present. The day will pass, one way or the other. My maternity leave will end soon. I hope the memories are snapshots of  beauty and not any great accomplishment. Then maybe years from now, I will come back to this blog posting and write that book.

Onesie anyone?

I've been thinking a lot the past month of how being a post partum mom and a newborn are a lot alike.
For starters, there is enough "bodily maintenance" to last all day. For baby- diapering, nursing, lotions, baths. For mom- diapering (oh yes!), nursing, lotions and baths. By the time we are both clean and fed it's noon and time to begin again.
I feel like I need to eat as often as she does- so hungry from breastfeeding!
Then there's the crying. Nori asks a million times a day- why is Miriam crying? And I reply with the same few answers "babies don't have words" or "sometimes we don't know why babies cry."  Sometimes Mommy cries and we don't know why too. And sometimes Mommy can't find words.
And the sleepiness. Miriam gets to drift in and out of this wonderful foggy state of being. I drift in and out of being coherent as well. We both look a bit glazed over most of the time.
The other evening when the weather got chillier, I woke up to find that I had swaddled myself in my sheets. She too finds comfort in being swaddled.
There is one thing that I don't get to have that she does. And I am jealous. She gets to wear those onesies that have the long sleeves to cover her hands. What a state of dependency to get to have your hands covered all day. And what a state of not doing anything, but allowing others to care for you.
I wish I could wear one and lay in bed all day.

Miriam's Hospital Stay

A lot has happened in the week since I have written. Miriam (and I ) were in the hospital for 3 nights. It started out with an afternoon of fussiness and when we took her temperature it was 101. Pete and I were off to the hospital with her after getting Nori situated.
Like most crises I find myself remaining calm and down playing the seriousness up to a certain point. When we started our adventure, my biggest concern was all the poking and prodding I knew they would put her thru. I wasn't that worried that something was actually "wrong."
Poked and prodded they surely did- drawing blood, urine catheter, xrays, lumbar puncture. They gave her some tylenol, her fever came down, and I was ready to go home to bed. She was cooing happily.

No such luck. We were told she would be admitted. I was still okay with this, thinking it would be one night and surely not too uncomfortable- we were at CHOP, supposedly the best hospital in the nation. They would have a nice spacious room for us to rest. My cool was fading fast after waiting several more hours for a room. I was  starting to lose it.We got to her room, Pete left. And I lost it.

Her temperature spiked to 103, they started 3-4 different anitbiotics, and was connected to heart monitors, pulse ox, ivs. Doctors and nurses filed in one after another to our room. They smiled and talked about things that were all starting to blur together. I would nod and try to appear calm.
Then the worst night of my life began.

Miriam was tethered to her array of machines next to a crib where she was expected to sleep. There was a small bed a few feet away where I was expected to sleep. The cords didn't reach.
There were several variables that no one addressed. She was two weeks old and I barely knew how to soothe, nurse and change her diaper at home, let alone in this jungle of cords, with nowhere for me to lay next to her (I did consider more than once climbing into the crib.) The most horrible fact was that  she was in terrible pain, moaning and whimpering with a fever of 103. The machines beeped, the hallway lights glared into our little torture chamber of a corner of a room and I haven't even mentioned our roommate yet. She was a few weeks old as well with just as many cries as Miriam and two parents that snored, boy did they snore.
I tried to comfort Miriam. Then I would lay her down and go to my cot. Five minutes later someone was crying- I was back up to see if it was Mira or our roomate. Then a machine would beep. The bathroom door would slam, a nurse would come in. I was delirious. I was delirious with the lack of sleep. I was trapped, like on an airplane ride that wouldn't end. And worst of all every few minutes I was overwhelmed with fear- my baby had a fever and the doctors kept saying "there is nothing else we can do." It was viral meningitis. 

For the next two days, her little body shook and moaned. She curled up on Pete or I's chest and we held her tight. In the daylight, things seemed a little better. I couldn't stopped crying. Maybe it was the postpartum hormones, or lack of sleep. But mostly it was feeling this little creature tremble, as though my own body was trembling. She came out of me two weeks ago. It was my blood and body that created her and pushed her into her miniature breathing and pooping self. And now stuck to me, my body wanted to do all it could to cause her to survive.
I entered this strange hyperalert state. I had no mental capability beyond nursing, holding her, crying, and eating. Man, I wanted to eat everything in sight. I was in survival mode and something told me to eat, to nurse, to stay awake.
There was of course, the occaional trip to the bathroom, a five minute no soap shower, or a visit from Nori or a friend.  These things were welcomed distractions, but before long, I was driven back to the room by a force greater than myself- to will this little baby to health. By day four, her fever broke. I could feel my heart relax. I thought about my bed at home. I was finally able to feel the fatigue.

During our stay, I didn't  pray. I had a faint feeling that God was present but I didn't feel the ability to enter into any spiritual part of myself. I was too consumed by this vigilant  mother state of doing things.
I was amazed at the friends and family that reached out with visits, with calls and texts. This was something tangible. I was held up by their love This was my faith when I couldn't summon the faith to talk directly to God. When I couldn't pray, others did.

Now, looking back, after many many hours of sleep, I wonder did I really believe God would help Miriam? Is my faith what I thought it was? Or maybe that is what believing is all about- realizing how little I believe.  Being able to be weak, to depend on friends and family, to love beyond where I know it is going "to be okay." To be mothered by God.

Oh- what love God must have for us, even if it is a fraction of what I feel for little Miriam.
We are blessed to be called children of God.