Post Birth Pessimism

I am swimming in a sea of disorientation. Apart from the lack of sleep, I am in a constant state of hunger. I am striving to take care of an adamantly needy Woog, feed a voracious baby, and try to keep the room and bathroom reasonably clean.

Partly, I am in a state of disbelief that Eli turned out so dark and “Atchbund-y”. After four years of getting used to fair-skinned and comely Woog, I naturally expected the next one to be another Mommy-clone. Instead I am finding myself in very upclose and personal circumstances with a changeling (Atch forgive me). I am in denial. Oh the guilt this feeling spawns!

But he is so fat and juicy and deliciously bite-able. I can spew all that mush about my heart being so surprisingly accommodating. But I won't. I'm still so tired. And hungry. And sleepy.

Woog has suddenly become a giant. I hold this stoutly compact bundle that is Eli, and then I look at my older son, with his suddenly huge feet, his hard scabby knees, large awkward fingers, the flare of his booger-filled nostrils – and suddently I am overcome with a mild case of ... distaste? A mild case. But still. Oh the guilt!

Atch is still in full fix-it mode. He repairs the breastpump, assembles the crib, fixes the baby monitor. In between, he washes the car and supervises the fixing of nice gingery batches of hot shellfish soup to encourage my breastmilk. He even nails my broken bakya together. Yet I find myself outraged by his constant absence from my side. Like I want a vigil. And my every wish granted. Now. At this very moment. I am constantly cranky towards this lovely man who has done everthing within his means possible to make me comfortable.

Oh the guilt!

And I worry that I'll be a fit enough mother. One child, yes. But two? The feeling persists, inspired by the confluence of sleep deprivation, my bloated post-natal belly, and my stinging cracked nipples.

I hold Eli and I wonder if I should be feeling more ... maternal? Oh, but I am so tired, and hungry, and sleepy. And the room needs dusting, and there are baby clothes to launder, and the toilet bowl wants a good scrubbing, and Woog has homework to get done...

I have never felt so overwhelmed.

July 2006