Being a Mother: an essay

I've been thinking a lot lately about Being a Mother. Brian and I have been casually discussing the possibility of a second child. While I would love nothing more than having another little bundle of joy to cuddle, I have some serious doubts about it. The doubts are not even financial. They are emotional. I'd like to also define these doubts as "practical" although some might disagree.

I guess I just can't get a good picture in my brain of what it would be like to have an infant and a toddler at the same time. I know, of course, that by the time it actually happened Eliot would not be a toddler anymore. But I just can't get past that fuzzy picture in my mind. When Eliot was an infant the days were wonderful. He was such a happy baby - hardly ever cried. But the nights dragged on forever; sitting in the nursery in the dark with this tiny creature who refused to sleep unless there was a nipple firmly clenched in his jowls. I have a theory that post-partum depression might be nothing more than sleep-deprivation.

The night was a strange time. I never realized what went on while I was in the safety of slumber, oblivious. The rocker was positioned below the heating vent. I would sit through several cycles, first freezing then sweating as the heat turned off and on. I'd glance over at the stairwell and imagine intruders, monsters, ghosts sneaking their head around the corner slowly, angry that they were unable to move about freely. I'd hear Brian snoring in the other room and get jealous. The jealousy would turn to anger, the anger to sadness, the sadness to loneliness, then finally (as the room gradually lightened with the morning sun) - depression.

Usually about the time I convinced myself that I would surely perish all alone in the nursery, I heard Brian stirring in the bedroom. Soon Eliot would detach himself from my breast and fall soundly asleep, still making little sucking motions with his mouth. Finally exhaustion would overcome me. I'd awaken several hours later, feeling fully functional (or, at least moderately functional). It was during the daytime that I could completely fall in love with every inch of Eliot's tiny body. From the very beginning of his life, he would look at me with such recognition; he knew exactly who I was. He spoke volumes with his eyes, even before he could focus them.

It was Eliot's eyes, during those endless nights, which comforted me. "Don't worry, Mommy, everything will be ok. I love you, and I know you love me. Don't cry, you're not alone." All of this without even being able to hold up his head on his own. His gaze reflected his old soul. Or maybe it was just exhaustion-induced hallucination - who's to say?

I go back and read my journal entries from that time and recall how my marriage and my friendships suffered, falling victim to my acute loneliness. Would the second time be any easier, knowing now what I would be in for? At least the emotion wouldn't take me by surprise. Then again, I was completely blindsided by the intensity of my love for Eliot. And it was not the love itself, but the fact that it stunned me that permeates my memory of that time.

"Labor is a pain you forget." Physically, this is true. I don't remember the pain of contractions, and due to the epidural, I never experienced the so-called "ring of fire". The recovery in the following weeks was tough, but I only know this from reading my journal. The emotional pain, however, has been a little harder for me to forget. I'll concede, though, that the euphoria was worth it. This holds even as Eliot gets older - the good times outweigh the bad. The more I think about Being a Mother the more I know in my heart that I want to do it again. In the end, I'm sure the desire will overpower my trepidation. And next time Eliot will be old enough to hug me with more than his eyes.