Mandajuice

BRUTAL HONESTY

One of my biggest fears about having a baby with Sean was that I would love that baby more than I loved my big kids because I love him so much more than I ever loved their father. It was a fear initially voiced by Genoa as a reason she didn’t want us to have a baby. Once she said it, it kind of haunted me and I couldn’t get it out of my head. I mean, what if it’s true? Isn’t that what all the absentee fathers on tv do? They go start a new family and forget about their existing kids. No wonder it scared Genoa. 

 

But lately, particularly late at night when I’m trying to get the baby back to sleep, I’ve become a little obsessed with reading old blog posts I wrote back when the kids were little, specifically when Genoa was Ever’s age and Alex was three years old. I’m so grateful for all the writing I did then because I don’t remember any of it. I had completely forgotten that Alex burned his thumb on a hot iron at Grandma’s house or that Genoa wouldn’t let anyone but me hold her when she was a baby. I read those posts now and it all seems like new information to me, like someone else wrote it.

 

In some ways, someone else did. I am wholly a different person than I was 14 years ago. I recently reread this incredibly judgmental post I wrote about breastfeeding while I was, in fact, formula-feeding Genoa’s sister. It was so controversial when I wrote it and looking back I can’t believe I actually felt that way. But I did. 

 

I’m not proud of the person I used to be and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought of just deleting all those old posts because they don’t reflect who I am anymore. But I would rather preserve the evolution - proof that I can change my mind when given new facts. Something that it turns out DOES NOT KILL YOU. 

 

Even stranger is how much of me is actually the same. Not so much the excessive judgment or horrible political views, but the ferocious love I had for my children. My personality hasn’t changed a whole bunch except for how much calmer I am now. I still can’t believe I actually raised children before therapy and medication and I try to have empathy for that Amanda who didn’t recognize her anxiety or depression or see just how destructive her marriage was to her mental health. But man, did she ever love her babies. That hasn’t changed. 

 

And so, let it be known that I love all my babies the same, which is to say, as much as it is humanly possible to love them. Sure, I love them each a little differently because they are such different people, but that ferocity is the same. Ever will have a vastly different life than my older kids and I’m sure there will be some resentment at some point, but it will never be because I didn’t love my older kids as much as I love their baby sister. That’s just not possible. 

Quarantine is starting to get to me

 

I have no motivation to do ANYthing. Even small tasks like emptying the dishwasher seem huge to me. I just sit around all day entertaining the baby. She’s great, don’t get me wrong, but this is just way too much alone time for an extrovert. Eight weeks of it already and my serotonin has left the building. I’m not sad at all, but I’m definitely depressed. 

 

At first I was taking walks and getting outside almost every day. I was making to do lists. I was cooking for my kids during the day and for Sean at night. I was baking. Now I’m not doing any of that stuff. The house is a mess. I know it would help, but I don’t even want to, much less have the energy to do any of it. This is how I know it’s depression - I don’t really care. 

 

The thing it’s really teaching me is how integral work is to my mental health. Not to mention how fortunate I am to have found a career that suits me so well I have a hard time functioning without it. I *need* those 10-15 conversations a day with people I care about. I need to feel helpful and efficient. I need women in my life. I need those relationships. Up until quarantine, I had things pretty well set up so that work took care of that part of my personality. Without it, I just feel useless. I’ve even lost my appetite; I’m pretty much only eating once a day. 

 

The big kids are on an opposite schedule now and mostly do their own thing anyway. Online school is a joke. I won’t let him get a job (yet), so Alex is always playing video games. We’re working our way through The Sopranos, one episode a day. Genoa has been spending more time at her dad’s because he has a more relaxed social distancing policy than I do and her bff lives across the street there. Basically I feel like I barely see the teenagers, so the main thing I have to look forward to is seeing Sean. 

 

I can’t be the only partner going through this, but I count the hours until my husband gets home from work every day. Sean is my only form of adult human contact right now and I’ve glommed onto him like never before. I almost feel sorry for him! He not only has to work 12-hour days keeping us afloat, but he has to come home every day and entertain his bored housewife. In some ways, it’s like the beginning of our relationship again - I’m all teenage infatuation and butterflies in my stomach when I finally get to see him. We’ve had to be very careful not to make Ever any more siblings. 

 

This isn’t what either of us signed up for, but I suppose it’s the silver lining of the pandemic. We’ve never been closer. 

 

That, and baby time. I might be depressed, but Ever is an utter delight and I really am grateful for the extra time home with her. My family still brings me joy. I know this is temporary and so many people have it so much worse than I do. I think that’s why I’ve been hesitating to post this for so long (it’s been like this for probably almost a month). Because I’m really complaining from a place of privilege. I have everything going for me and I’m still a mess. I can only imagine how hard it must be for folks who are actually struggling.