• Motherhood
  • Love & Marriage
  • Roots
  • Writing
  • Best of Lance
  • Pregnancy
  • Photography

While My Boyfriend Was Sleeping

What I write after Joe and Henry go to bed

Pregnancy Confession No. 10

August 19, 2011 by heidi 9 Comments

[I underestimated the 4th trimester.]

I have a big, dumb confession to make.

I (foolishly) thought I would write a screenplay on my maternity leave.

I (foolishly) assumed not working would free up more time for writing. I figured I would spend my days in a glowy haze writing as Henry slept. I pictured myself perched contently at the computer knocking off scenes during uninterrupted stretches of newborn sleep.

I pictured Henry waking from his afternoon slumber, myself sailing from computer to baby like a modern-day Donna Reed. I pictured myself tending to my motherly duties — nursing, diapering, rocking, singing and cooing to my little lamb — as if these things are as predictably routine as brushing your teeth.

Silly rabbit.

I underestimated the fourth trimester; this period I’m in now: the early weeks and months of motherhood, of baby development.

The first time I heard someone mention the fourth trimester I was newly pregnant and blissfully naive.

“Fourth trimester?” I choked. “There’s a FOURTH trimester?”

I was filled in by a woman in my neighborhood who had just given birth to her first baby, a hairy boy who at the time was nestled in a purple wrap tied elaborately across her chest; a baby barnacle clinging to his mother’s bosom.

“Yeah,” she said wearily. “The baby adjusting to life outside the womb. You adjusting to the baby.”

Oh yes. The fourth trimester. Cute.

Her eyes were rimmed with dark circles. Her hair was tugged into a lopsided pony tail. Her smile, albeit warm, did little to mask her exhaustion.

I asked her how her labor went. She paused a little too long before answering.

“Well,” she said slowly, obviously searching for the appropriate words. “It was a little rough at first. I was late, so they had to induce … and then I ended up with a C-section …”

She took one look at my growing belly and clammed up. If there were gory details, pain and suffering, she would share none of it.

I’d seen this kind of reaction before from women who’ve had children. They hold back key details. Whether they do so deliberately or subconsciously, I’m not sure. I can tell you this, though: before I had a baby it seemed no mother would share her birth story as it actually happened: painfully.

I get it. I tell stories for a living. It’s easy to slant a narrative by picking and choosing which parts to highlight.

Following the mention of a C-section, my neighbor started to tell me about the pushing; something about it lasting for a long time, but she downplayed it and immediately minced her words with, “It all worked out in the end. He’s here and he’s beautiful.”

She kissed her baby on his dark, downy head. He was beautiful.

There’s a labor vow of silence and while I would love to shatter it with a play-by-play of every grueling contraction leading up to Henry’s birth, that’s just not how I roll. I know you might find it surprising considering the source, but as my mother told me when I confronted her about the labor vow, if I told you how much it hurt you’d never have a baby.

So dear readers, if you really must know, I’d be happy to chat in private. Just know this: like most wounds, the banged up bod you’re left with after labor eventually heals.

The pain of childbirth has a clear start and finish. What happens next is far trickier as it concerns matters of the mind.

Your family goes home and the visits from friends and neighbors taper off. Your husband goes back to work and the fourth trimester begins.

Adjusting to life as a new mother is taxing. No amount of book-reading or Baby Story-watching can prepare you for it. It’s an emotional roller coaster, fueled by hormones, tiny triumphs and tiny upsets. It rocks your freedom and zaps your energy.

You start the day with a to-do list and if you strike one task from it in 24 hours, you’re lucky.

Breastfeeding, as nourishing as it is for your baby, as efficient as it is at burning calories, is draining.

I’ve never see so many sunrises in my life. Through slitted eyes, curled up on a green couch in Henry’s baby cave, I’ve watched the sun come up and listened to the early bird get its worm. On tippy toes, I’ve crept from my bedroom to Henry’s crib more times than I care to admit to pop a fallen pacifier back into his searching, guppy mouth.

At 3 a.m., with Henry latched to my chest, I’ve fallen asleep in a rocking chair to the tick-tock of a monkey clock that taunts me as only a monkey clock can. Unbeknownst to my husband, I’ve slipped out of bed between feedings to eat bowls of fruit at the kitchen table, wearing nothing but my underwear because breastfeeding makes you hungry and unusually sweaty.

I’ve cried when Henry’s cried. I’ve laughed when Henry’s laughed. On irritable afternoons, I’ve loaded him into his stroller and pounded the pavement from my house to McDonald’s for enough iced coffee to give my entire neighborhood a buzz. On these walks I carry my wallet in the bags under my eyes.

The fourth trimester is as amazing as it is scary.

The thing that surprised me most about motherhood is that it came naturally to me. (Let’s not forget I got fired from a nanny job three years ago because I mistakenly put drinking glasses in a low kitchen cabinet.)

The fourth trimester is, as I imagine the rest of child-rearing to be, an adventure in trial and error.

Next month my maternity leave will come to an end and while I never wrote my screenplay, I did manage to clean out my bedroom closet during one of Henry’s longer afternoon naps.*

In the annals of accomplishments this one was pretty pathetic. That is until I came across a sheer green scarf I hadn’t worn in years.

I remember when I bought it I pictured wearing it as a belt. Since that never happened and since I was in a purging kind of mood, I tossed it into a Goodwill pile at the foot of my bed.

And then Henry woke up.

He stretched. He wiggled. He cried. He opened his eyes, saw me and smiled.

I held up the scarf.

“Whatcha think?” I asked. “Keep it or give it to Goodwill?”

He looked at me inquisitively, his eyes rounding out like a baby owl’s. The scarf had caught his attention.

“Keep it?” I asked again.

His eyes got wider. His mouth broke into a gummy grin. He reached for the fabric.

“Alright, alright. I’ll keep it.”

I curled up on the bed next to him. I threw the scarf over our heads and inside this transparent scarf bubble, I kissed his pink baby feet. He smiled again. His eyes as wide and wondrous as I’d ever seen them.

Looking through the gauzy green fabric with its paisley print, I saw a fraction of what he saw: an otherworldly bedroom aglow in green, coming in and out of focus through an ephemeral lens of thin silk.

I blew the fabric off our faces. It lifted like a cloud and settled back down on our heads. We stayed like this for a long time, lying in bed, letting the scarf float up and down over our heads, turning our vision of an ordinary bedroom into something else, something worth writing about.

I kept the scarf.

It changed Henry’s world for a moment and reminded me that mine had changed forever.

—

*I also managed to completely paint and redecorate our bedroom. Joe insisted I include this detail, but I thought it disrupted my story’s flow so I included it as a footnote.

PS. This post marks the final installment in my 10-part cathartic pregnancy series.Β  πŸ™‚

Filed Under: babies, Goodwill Hunting, Henry, love, lovey doveyness, mushy anecdotes, neighborhood lore, pregnancy, pregnancy confessions, sacrifice, writing

Comments

  1. mothership says

    August 19, 2011 at 9:21 am

    This post and the 10 previous written post are your screenplay my dear. I for one have loved every beautifully written word. Motherhood does suit you well. It has softened you, taught you patience and opened your eyes & heart to an entirely different world… one much more fulfilling. So enjoy every magical little moment, for that is a mothers fuel to help you along this new journey and it is an awesome one.
    P.S. Glad Henry convinced you to keep the scarf. Thinking when I am down there we’ll use it in constructing his mobile. πŸ™‚

  2. Sara says

    August 19, 2011 at 9:31 am

    Amen to the mothership.

    Another beautiful creation from you, Heidi. I’m so happy I when I read your posts.

  3. Stacy Renz says

    August 19, 2011 at 11:24 am

    I think we have all gone into things with rosy naivete. I can think of several – marriage, OT school, buying and renovating a building for the studio. If we really knew what we were in for, would we do anything? But we do it and deal with things as they come – integrating reality into our fantasy. We learn that each situation is less easy and more rich than a fantasy could ever be.

  4. MaryAnn says

    August 19, 2011 at 12:46 pm

    That was wonderful as usual. You are truly gifted and a wondeful mother. Remeber one thing. When you are offered help. TAKE IT. I am always here for you.

  5. Roberta says

    August 19, 2011 at 3:43 pm

    OMG you have done it again – you write SO well! I wrote a short story after Andrew was born, about being a “single parent by choice” (I know, I was nuts) – but it’s not half as good as what have here (and your other posts).

    I had to laugh at some of the things you said about the 4th trimester. I particularly remember my mother shaking her finger in Wendy’s face numerous times, yelling, “I hope someday you have a child who drives you as crazy as you drive ME!”. πŸ˜€

  6. Sarah @ BecomingSarah.com says

    August 22, 2011 at 7:08 pm

    How on earth did you manage to postpone your fourth trimester until your husband went back to work? I felt like my mess of a fourth trimester started the minute the baby popped out. All the bleeding, the pain, the frustration, the learning things about a stranger at the fastest pace I’ve ever learned anything, whew. It was an exhausting fourth trimester. I was really glad when I started to feel like I’d got the hang of it.

    Then she went and changed shit up, the little booger =)

  7. Megan says

    August 27, 2011 at 10:33 pm

    I’m glad Joe insisted you include that note about redoing your room. It’s a big deal πŸ™‚

  8. TAbitha (From Single to Married) says

    September 25, 2011 at 10:04 am

    so very, very true. I refer to the fourth trimester as a “fog.” One that took me about three months until I was through. Then I felt somewhat normal again. Those first three months are still a blur to me.

  9. Darcie Soto says

    December 16, 2013 at 4:56 pm

    Reading sleep training books for my little girl was one of the best things I could have done for both of us.

Leave a Reply Cancel reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

Why do I even blogger?

If you really want to know why I continue to write here, read this post.

Lance lately

  • Old School Values
  • Land of Hives and Honey
  • The Happy Camper
  • Truth Bombs with Henry [No. 2]
  • Truth Bombs with Henry [No. 1]
  • By now I’d have two kids

Social commentary

  • Crystal on Pug worries, or what to do when your dog starts having seizures
  • heidi on Land of Hives and Honey
  • Roberta Kendall on Land of Hives and Honey
  • Jane on Pug worries, or what to do when your dog starts having seizures
  • reb on The Happy Camper

Back in the day

  • December 2017 (1)
  • September 2017 (1)
  • May 2017 (1)
  • June 2015 (2)
  • May 2015 (1)
  • February 2015 (1)
  • September 2014 (1)
  • February 2014 (1)
  • January 2014 (1)
  • December 2013 (6)
  • November 2013 (3)
  • October 2013 (5)
  • September 2013 (7)
  • August 2013 (2)
  • July 2013 (3)
  • June 2013 (2)
  • May 2013 (5)
  • April 2013 (2)
  • March 2013 (6)
  • February 2013 (6)
  • January 2013 (4)
  • December 2012 (1)
  • November 2012 (3)
  • October 2012 (3)
  • September 2012 (3)
  • August 2012 (5)
  • June 2012 (5)
  • May 2012 (1)
  • April 2012 (4)
  • March 2012 (5)
  • February 2012 (6)
  • January 2012 (3)
  • December 2011 (1)
  • November 2011 (2)
  • October 2011 (6)
  • September 2011 (6)
  • August 2011 (5)
  • July 2011 (3)
  • June 2011 (4)
  • May 2011 (7)
  • April 2011 (7)
  • March 2011 (6)
  • February 2011 (6)
  • January 2011 (5)
  • December 2010 (7)
  • November 2010 (4)
  • October 2010 (4)
  • September 2010 (11)
  • August 2010 (6)
  • July 2010 (4)
  • June 2010 (6)
  • May 2010 (7)
  • April 2010 (8)
  • March 2010 (5)
  • February 2010 (6)
  • January 2010 (6)
  • December 2009 (10)
  • November 2009 (6)
  • October 2009 (8)
  • September 2009 (4)
  • August 2009 (4)
  • July 2009 (8)
  • June 2009 (8)
  • May 2009 (11)
  • April 2009 (5)
  • March 2009 (14)
  • February 2009 (7)
  • January 2009 (6)
  • December 2008 (3)
  • November 2008 (3)
  • October 2008 (3)
  • September 2008 (5)
  • August 2008 (11)
  • July 2008 (10)
  • June 2008 (13)
  • May 2008 (9)
  • April 2008 (4)

Oddities

Reading material

Wild by Cheryl Strayed Travels with Charley Home Game bossypants just kids the time travelers wife Boys Life The-Liars-Club My Uncle Oswald Stephen King On Writing

Me.

Heidi K

Joe.

Joe on guitar

Henry.

henry as werewolf

Chip.

Chippy in a cupboard

Buzzy.

Buzzy

Why Lance?

This blog is named after my old friend Sarah's manifestation of a dreamy Wyoming cowboy named Lance, because the word blog sounds like something that comes out of a person's nose.

About me

I'm a journalist who spends my Mondays through Fridays writing other people's stories, a chronic procrastinator who needs structure. I once quit my job to write a book and like most writers, I made up excuses why I couldn't keep at it.

My boyfriend fiancΓ© husband Joe likes to sleep in late on the weekends, but since we have a kid now that happens less than he'd like.

Before Henry and Chip, I used to spend my mornings browsing celebrity tabloid websites while our dog snored under the covers. Now I hide my computer in spots my feral children can't reach because everything I own is now broken, stained or peed on.

I created Lance in an attempt to better spend my free time. I thought it might jump start a second attempt at writing a novel.

It hasn't. And my free time is gone.

But I'm still here writing.

I'm 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 and I've yet to get caught up in something else, which is kind of a big deal for a chronic procrastinator.

How I met Joe

If you're new here and looking for nirvana, read this post.

And if that’s not enough…

heidikurpiela.com

Join the fan club

Subscribe

Copyright © 2022 · Magazine Pro Theme on Genesis Framework · WordPress · Log in