I have raging heartburn, my back hurts, and I kind of feel like I’m going to throw up, but I just had to get this blog published.
I don’t want to forget how I’ve felt for the last week or so, because I suspect — unfortunately — that this feeling is not going to go away once I have this baby. You know, on WEDNESDAY.
I’ve been through a roller coaster of emotions this week (not surprising), but what IS surprising is how quickly I’m going from one state to the next.
I have horrible periods of feeling super overwhelmed by caring for the toddler in this state. The constant cooking, cleaning, wiping, changing, and dressing. The MESSES, oh God, the messes. The toy-picking-up. The spill-wiping. The feeling of frustration when he — for the third time in an hour — has filled a huge cup of water from the water cooler and then promptly spilled it all over the table, wall, and floor.
When it’s like this, I’m not only overwhelmed with how hard it is to manage right now — while I have this huge basketball laundry basket of a stomach sticking out, and I’m waddling around clutching myself and panting — but also how hard it will be to recover from my C-section while doing all of this.
Regular readers know I’m very pro C-section — I think “the other way” (clutching my crotch in sympathy every time I think of it) is awesome if you can do it, but sadly I was not able to do it. Luckily I really do think C-sections are great, and I’m happy to be having another one.
BUT! I am realizing — with terror — that the recovery this time could be a lot harder. I won’t be able to just sit on the couch, doing basically nothing but breastfeeding and watching TV, like I did with my son — which helped me to recover beautifully, with zero complications. No, this time, I’m going to have to recover, take care of my daughter, AND still be a good parent to my son. Oh, and we have gone from a one-floor condo to a three-level house. Um, CRAP.
While I’m still happy with my scheduled C-section — holyshitit’sWEDNESDAY,youguys — I have the odd twinge of wishing I was having a vaginal birth. Ow, even typing that hurts my vag. But seriously, the recovery IS better with a regular birth. I get that. I’m envious of that. My superstar friend L had a totally natural birth (seriously, I am so impressed by that) and was in the MALL a few days later. I’m not supposed to climb STAIRS for six weeks. That is the difference, people.
When the toddler drops his plate of food on the floor, or eats the tips off all his markers and spits them everywhere, or dumps the entire contents of his toybox onto the floor, I feel panicky and exhausted at the same time. It has brought me to tears more than once in the last week. It’s too much, I keep thinking — or wailing to Darling Husband on the phone.
But it’s not too much, because it’s not even “two” yet. And that’s what scares me.
But these freak-out feelings aren’t constant. It’s funny. I can be crying on the phone to my mom about how Darling Husband only has two weeks off to help me, and then I’m ON MY OWN OMG MOMMEEEEEEE!
And then after we hang up, I wipe the mascara off my chin, and suddenly think of a great way to keep the toddler alive and entertained for the next hour. I clean up efficiently while he’s eating his bedtime snack. I spend lots of time putting him down, giving him extra kisses and attention because OMG MY BABY IS IN FOR SUCH A SHOCK SOON. I feel confident that I can handle it.
All along I have said I really like the idea of having our children close together in age, and I stand by it. However, I know TOTALLY SEE how it is hard to be pregnant with #2 while #1 is still really young and dependent. It kind of sucks, sometimes, really. And I’m sure there will be lots of moments like that after Baby Girl arrives.
I know I’ll have lots of overwhelming moments and freak-outs, and feelings of “I can’t do this. IT’S TOO MUCH.”
But I hope I also have moments of confidence and calm, and feelings of “I can do this. I’m making it work.”
I’m Heather Laura Clarke. I’m a writer living in beautiful Nova Scotia, I have a 12-year-old son and a 10-year-old daughter, I married my high school sweetheart, and this is the story of my handmade life.
I have depression and anxiety, and I fight like hell every day to keep them from taking over my life. Creating things helps.
Whether I’m writing novels, decorating a room, busting out my power tools to build furniture, getting muddy in the pottery studio, sewing clothes, or cross-stitching a swear word, I’m all about using my creativity to craft a life I love.
I’ve been writing this blog since 2009, so if you dig deep into the archives, you’ll meet a bright-eyed 25-year-old newlywed who was basically obsessed with having kids, buying a cozy house, and supporting herself full-time with her writing. (Spoiler alert: she got exactly what she wanted.)