Getting Back on the Horse

A few days ago I started a blog post talking about how I'd been kind of down lately, mostly feeling sorry for myself. The non-writing project I've been preoccupied with is a baby. I'm into the second trimester and, for some reason, the puking has started now. I'm getting over a cold and my husband has been out of town for almost two weeks. It went on to say that when I'm feeling bad and especially when my husband is out of town it's easy for this stay-at-home-mom-ness to feel monotonous and thankless and lonely. It doesn't usually feel that way. Usually, I genuinely enjoy it and I'm thankful that I'm able to stay home.

Then it said: I know that the remedy for this is writing.

I'd planned to say that writing grounds me, always has. When I'm working on a writing project I have direction and focus. I'm a better me when I'm writing. I'd planned to quote Franz Kafka, "A non-writing writer is a monster courting insanity." I'd planned for all of this to kick my butt in gear. Even though it's hard to write when you're throwing up in the kitchen sink. I was going to power through and make it happen.

But then last night I woke up in the middle of the night and instead of talking about writing or writing about writing, I actually wrote something. I'd been thinking of my son's birth and a particular memory made me cry into my pillow. Instead of wallowing in it, I got up and wrote it.

After fourteen hours of labor, including two hours of pushing with nothing to show for it, the doctor said, “This baby is either very large or in a strange position,” and recommended a C-section. Shortly after 1:30am I held my nine pound, two ounce baby boy with a head two inches larger than the average baby. He was chunky and perfect with a full head of dark hair.

The next morning, I sat up in the hospital bed, still exhausted from the night before. My fine, straight hair was already hanging limp and greasy around my face. I was swollen all over. My belly still looked quite pregnant even minus the nine pound baby. I was holding my son when the student nurses and their supervisor asked if they could come in the room. I said sure.

The supervisor put a hand to her chest and said in an awed voice, “Oh, you look so beautiful. You’re just radiant. You are such a beautiful new mother.” I started crying. I knew what I looked like. My sarcasm meter started to go off. It was such an over-the-top, almost ridiculous compliment but when I looked at this woman’s face, all I saw was sincerity and kindness.

I still rate it as one of the kindest things anyone has ever said to me. Perhaps this woman, who spent a lot of time with women who’d just given birth, said that to every new mother and maybe the student nurses told every mom that their baby was the cutest one in the nursery. 

I sure hope so.

Even in the middle of the night, writing is never the wrong answer.