Baby

A few days ago I visited a friend who had her first (and likely only) baby 6 weeks ago. Seeing her in her small house, now transformed into Baby Land, her every moment taken and given to that baby created a deep clutching in my chest and I had to remind myself to breathe. I had forgotten what that small world was like. 

 I suspected my friend might struggle after giving birth, because I could recognize myself at her age. In the weeks after, she wouldn’t answer her phone and I heard she was having a difficult time. I left her messages assuring her that what she was feeling was normal, for which she later thanked me. For some women like myself, having a baby is crushing in many ways. The realization that your life has suddenly become entirely about this little being, who you love with an almost frightening ferocity – but that is absolutely all there is. Her every moment hooks into yours. It’s all on you. Your life becomes reduced to the singular thing, to caring for a seeming alien, to begging God for a good burp, because the quality of your life depends on it. Why is it that some women take it in stride and make it look so easy? Are they suffering in silence? Do they have different support systems than those of us who flail?

 In old Jewish tradition, after giving birth, women were sequestered for 33 or 66 days, depending on the sex of the child. Sequestered in ‘a state of blood purification’, alone, as her tribal sisters ministered to her, bringing her food, and the baby when it needed to be nursed. 66 days alone to align with this new reality; what a blessing that must have been. We in this modern age don’t get 6 hours to adjust. I was with my daughter literally from the moment she popped out, and I wanted it that way. My husband went back to work within a few days and I couldn’t wait for him to go; I wanted to be alone with my baby. And then. The loneliness, isolation and repetitiveness made my world smaller and smaller. Somehow I got through it although I can’t say how. I remember books and movies helped - and walking, for hours with my girl in a stroller, so small and bundled people would ask me if there was an actual baby in there. Yes, there was, a tiny, amazing, mostly unhappy bundle that hijacked my entire existence. 

 My friend said “It just doesn’t feel natural.” I know exactly what she means. After 11 years, it still doesn’t feel natural, although I notice I am quite motherly to my friends now. Somehow I can manage it with adults – perhaps because I can connect into their ways of being, their struggles, their frailties. My daughter remains somewhat of an alien to me. I cannot relate to her childish thoughts or behaviors. Perhaps because I was never allowed to be a child, I am forever cut off from that experience. I simply do not seem have the bandwidth to tap in. So, ‘natural’ – no, but I am doing it and doing a pretty decent job at this point. Never mind that it is the very hardest thing I have ever attempted. My daughter is happy, thriving, well-adjusted and yes, crazy a lot of the time. Just like her mama….