September 7, 2021

I was behind. It was 4:15 in the morning and I was already behind.

For whatever reason I hadn’t heard baby in her early stages of stirring, and instead only came to when her cries had intensified past the point of being able to successfully lull her back to sleep without a full wake cycle first. 

She was too fussy for my breast - something that at one time had been the only thing that could calm her but was now, 10 weeks later, a slow and inconvenient way to have a snack at best. 

2 ounces of bottle later she fell into a light sleep in my arms, though heaven forbid I try to put her down. Nearly an hour later I attempted it again with success and curled up on the floor next to her crib with a throw blanket over me, head propped up on her tummy time pillow. Guilt washed over me for having wished away my time with her - knowing those snuggles and her wanting me won’t last forever. 

A fitful 45 minutes on the floor is the most I get before she’s up again, this time for good. I feed her, change her, and dress her for the day before joining my mother-in-law downstairs, who is happy to take my smiley baby to entertain.

As I climb the stairs away from the happy scene I look back at her on the floor next to my little one, singing to her and receiving bubbly, excited coos in return. Argh, I’m already running late when I hit the shower. 

The weekly meeting I run feels off to a rushed start as I crash land in front of my laptop mere minutes before it’s scheduled to begin. I blow through my talking points in rapid-fire succession, more of a dissertation than a discussion that instead forms a list that could’ve been an email. At the end I ask if anyone has anything to add and I’m gently reminded of all the things I had meant to touch on but forgot, as well as the things that bare further discussion. A cognitive distortion tells me I suck at everything instead of allowing me to accept the support and collaboration of my team. I haven’t even glimpsed at my inbox. 

When I do I drown in it, playing defense with reply after reply, putting out proverbial fire after fire. In the next room, my baby cries and my breasts twinge. Maybe I can sneak a breastfeeding session in? I should try, I have to keep my milk supply up.

My husband is warming a bottle while bouncing our little one, and I take her from him. She’s hungry and fussy so I try to position myself optimally downstairs on the couch. In as smooth a move as I can muster I swing her down from my shoulder and into my arms, one hand unhooking my nursing tank as the other squeezes my boob for optimal latching. 

She screams into my nipple as my phone starts to ring. I silence the ringer as I try to latch her again. Squirming and burying her head into my chest is somewhat cute, but not particularly useful when she’s starving. My phone rings again - same number, same colleague caller. It must be time sensitive. I hand my daughter to my mother-in-law who gets her to take a bottle right away, retreat to my office and shut the door, calling them back with apologies.

I’m running late for my afternoon meeting and end up shoving a fast food snack wrap in my mouth in lieu of a lunch while sitting in a parking lot. It’s a meeting I’ve been looking forward to, a meeting with a colleague who is also a dear friend, on a subject matter that has the potential to be creatively fulfilling and engaging if we both weren’t so under the gun with time and resources. I’ve barely seen him since baby was born and we both have so much to catch up on with each other, but the clock is not on our side and so instead we buckle down and work through as much as we can, as efficiently as we can. 

Around 4:30 I get a text from my husband asking when I’ll be home - I’ve forgotten he’s invited company for dinner tonight and is making something special. Damnit, we’ve accomplished only half of what I had hoped we’d achieved, with almost no “shooting the shit” to boost my spirits and desire for social connection. 

We make plans to reconnect tomorrow as I pack up my stuff and he walks me out to my car. We’ve held the meeting in his backyard and just as I am leaving I notice how beautiful a day it is. Wasted on me. How easy he makes working from home look with two kids. I spend most of the drive home lamenting our interaction and how I feel so empty in spite of it.

On paper this should be a great day, so why do I feel so shitty?

Before bursting through the door I’m already making plans in my mind to make a brief appearance at dinner before ducking down into my office to get a few more hours of work in before baby’s bedtime. It’s meant to be a low-key dinner with my mother-in-law who’s staying with us, and one of my husband’s good friends that I see all the time - so if I disappear early I won’t be missing anything too important. 

The house is quiet, but I hear laughter coming from out back. The three of them are three drinks in, soaking up the perfect summer day in the kiddie pool on our back deck. They’ve been at it for hours, enjoying the best that summer has to offer, sitting “poolside” with cocktails after a lazy walk with baby that has knocked her out for a nap. My mother-in-law is more boisterous than I’ve ever seen her. My husband looks more relaxed than he has in weeks. His friend tells story after story, clearly the entertainment they needed on this vacation-esque afternoon. 

The momentum of the day finally caught up to me as I briefly excused myself to go sob in our upstairs bathroom as quietly as I could to not wake baby. 

I was missing it. 

All of it. 

Special quality time with my baby and family, creatively fulfilling leadership through my work, social connection. I was two steps behind. I had spent the entire day chasing the life I wanted and failing every step of the way. 

Forget “having it all”, in that moment I didn’t have anything. 

The rest of the evening I spent fighting back tears as I moved through the motions as if lurking backstage in my own life. 

And then I slept. 

And then next day was okay. It was alright. It was better. Not all better, but better. 

The days roll on. I have fewer and fewer days like that, but they still come every now and again. 

I had another one recently - I was short and dismissive of a colleague, cancelled plans with a friend last minute, and try as I might baby just wanted her daddy instead of Mama. 

I sat at the kitchen table, pumping as I listened to my wonderful, patient, supportive husband calm our baby upstairs. I hunched over awkwardly to get the best suction possible and for a moment it felt like it was sucking the metaphorical life force from me. I was tired in my soul and the only thing more overwhelming was the guilt I felt for not being more grateful and gracious for all I have. 

I told myself this feeling is not forever. 

This is merely a season. 

Though a large part of me wasn’t yet ready to hear it, I told myself anyway: that I am adrift in liminal space as I figure out what this new life of mine looks like. And what it will continue to morph into as my little one grows.

As I write this on my phone, in the dark, one handed with baby cradled in the other, I still don’t know if I’m ready to absorb this knowledge and acceptance of seasonal change within my soul - but I create art as a kind of therapy for me. A fake-it-til-I-make-it facade. And a reminder to me that this is true even if I’m not quite ready to embrace it.