Whole lot of living

It's still fairly crazy here in 24 hr living land. Yesterday afternoon was something else: cluster feeding from noon - 6 pm and a bout of fussing, possibly due to gas from the crazy cluster. My boobs were empty-feeling and sore.

I felt overwhelmed, since it was the first day Carl and I had without mother-in-law backup, and since there was so much feeding it mostly fell to me, and I realized that in another week I'll be flying solo and the reality of that was sort of leaden, at that point. How do you pee if your kid wants to nurse for 3 hrs?

I also went out on a single errand on - Wed? Thurs? - while Carl pushed the stroller around outside and it was insane, trying to fit the whole trip in between feedings (didn't work) and organize all the gear. I know it gets easier - and germs become less of an issue - but I had this dreadful feeling of being trapped. I am a person who likes to be out and about, and in the idealized parenthood in my brain I have always pictured mobility: baby sling, stroller, diaper bag, and all of Toronto to explore. The reality was shockingly bad. Carl wandered off and I panicked when I couldn't see my baby anywhere on the horizon, for the first time... ever. There was a poopy diaper (he is pooing just fine now; maybe it's the massages! TY) to change in a public washroom (on our mat but still!).

Noah of course wanted a feed after rousing for the bowel event; the breastfeeding lounge was great to have, but again - germ concern. I was torn between fear of disease and not wanting to make him wait; his crying won out but I went through a lot of contortions so as not to have my hands connect with any of the armchair. Despite all the hand sanitizer I was packing. I have found tiny babies turn me into a neurotic creature. Which, at this point in Noah's development, is not a bad thing.

I had to laugh at previous visions of subtlely breastfeeding in front of art down at the AGO... except I still want to get there. God do I. I like my house and my street and the lake, thank god, the lake - but I. need. to. get. out. sometimes. It's not desperate yet, which is good, but give it another couple of months and it will be. But man. That trip showed it's not easy to get there.

But even with all these bumps on the road the predominant mood was still quite a bit of gladness about just having these problems at all. Not to mention the sheer joy of watching him look at things, or hold onto a finger, or breathe. It's amazing that he has our fingers and Carl's feet. It's amazing, this person who is now our family too. It doesn't seem to end, this wonder and delight and sense that the universe has gifted us incredibly with getting to know this kid.

Okay, I am about to cringe at myself because I don't believe, at all, that anyone needs a child to complete them. But having Noah around is on some level darning a hole in my and our particular psyche. I think this hole was ripped open by losing Emily, but the worn patch had been there for a long time. First infertility we never investigated, and then by the whole multiple/therapy exploration which made it seem like we'd never feel whole or stable enough to parent.

I think we all, except Lyria, put a damper on how much under all that garbage we wanted to. (Okay, not one hundred percent all, but a majority all.) I'm hyperventilating right now even typing that I want to be a parent: it seems selfish, somehow, and wrong, and like it will condemn Noah to death. Sometimes I think growing up we learned to bury desire so deep that even we can't find aspects of it any more. And losing this desire was making us less whole. Most of us, anyway.

And now here we are trading off cluster feeds with each other. A secret strength in the middle of the strangeness of being multiple: when one of us is getting impatient, sometimes - sometimes - someone else can step in. If we are all paying attention.

And occasionally we just cry together; yesterday Lyria had a bit of a meltdown, over the feeding, and I was a close second over that feeling of being trapped. For her not being able to get Noah fed at the start of these (what I presume are) growth spurts is really triggering: I think it has to do with my mum withholding food and some strange feedback loop there. For me mobility has always meant safety; the idea of not being able to get away is equally triggering, although I was mostly through it by the time Noah had his rough afternoon.

She has entirely impossibly high standards for herself; mine are just a little unrealistic. (Ha.) But she talked to Lian a bit online, and cried in our body a little, and was comforted and Carl went and got a pre-cooked chicken at the grocery store for dinner as a Friday treat along with cake, and told her she was doing fine.

And you know, your baby does not really care if you are shedding a few tears over his head, as long as he is warm and has a breast in his mouth. It's a good thing since I suspect most mothers do shed a few at points like that.

Fear, frustration, joy, awe. All together. It's awesome.

Other people may start posting here; I just let you all know. We'll sign things if they are person-specific.

Shandra