Pre-Natal Musings

Paul was always meant to be a father, myself, I'm not so sure. It's not that I don't enjoy being a mom, but I need to come up for air far more often than he does. He's down there exploring and I'm down there drowning.

I try to picture us with the easiest of lives. No Jude, no Oliver; just him, myself, and Simone. Maybe Paul would have never been too torn up about growing old without a child of his own since he never knew any different. But, watching him now, our current life together, leads me to understand that it couldn't have happened any other way. In a sense, we've both evolved. I've learned not to take myself so seriously. Paul became Jack fucking Pierson. We're definitely both happier, but with far less time and resources.

So here I am sipping wine and eating sushi, enjoying a metaphorical "last supper" as I'm going to call it. My IUD was removed this morning and we're going to start trying immediately for number two. I've been back and forth on the idea of it for quite some time, but the final decision came to me the other day while I was writing. If something happens to Paul and me, I don't want Jude to feel like all he has it his extended family, siblings drive one another absolutely crazy, but they also need each other. I want Jude to have an abundance of love from as many angles as possible. I want him to be truly known by more than just myself and Paul. Paul always knew he wanted more than one, there was never a doubt, he wants a big family. He wants to study our children and their every move and expression from the eyes of someone who is both thoughtfully brilliant and madly in love with his subjects. I could watch him all day with Jude if he didn't get so insecure by my doing so; his backward hat; slender fingers; the curve of his forearm muscle as he stands, hand on waist, watching Jude with amusement, his half-smile revealing so much more to any observer who's ever legitimately adored a child.

Luckily, Paul still looks at me with the exact same amusement and adoration, which still surprises me since everything about who I am as a wife and mother is completely unconventional. He tried so hard to convince me in our 20s that, like myself, he didn't want marriage or children either. I held to that belief well into my middle 30s. It wasn't until we called off our wedding and went into couple's therapy did I start to feel my undying love for this man. I was, for so long, angry and terrified when it came to him, anybody really. But it was when I let him see me, really see me, and he began to let me see him, really see him, that I began to understand raw and authentic love. It wasn't long after that we were married and pregnant. Of course, this is a rough synopsis and there is a lot more meat and guacamole in that taco than I'd care to dive into. But yeah, I wanted to build a family with him, to create a unit, where we would always have each other.

I've been riddled with anticipation and anxiety since my doctor yanked that IUD out of me (I still don't understand why she wouldn't just let me do it myself out of the comfort of my own home, a glass of wine and a little bit of marijuana can work wonders on DIY medical procedures). The fact is, Dr. Axelrod, during a virtual check-up I had with her at the beginning of the week, basically told me to piss or get off the pot, in far gentler terms. At nearing 39 years old, she kindly reminded me that although we don't know when COVID-19 will die, we do have a pretty solid idea of the life-span of a biological clock. So, there we have it. I'm going to try to get pregnant in the middle of a pandemic.

Paul and I did put the cart before the horse a little bit. Most people would hope to own a home before starting a family, by doing so, things like Murder Hornets and a deadly virus infecting the world's population would not affect us so horribly, as I've now grown to realize the benefits of a backyard and ample space for each of your cohabitants. But that's not the direction we took. Bad decisions triggering bad circumstances triggering bad decisions; a large chunk of our adult lives was the embodiment of the domino effect. Truthfully, I don't know what came first, the decisions or the lousy circumstances. But I can say that even as a Realtor, I still stare in awe at the young buyers I work with, preparing to purchase their first home. I want to meet their parents, I want to shake hands with the brilliant people who managed to screw those heads on so perfectly. Are they in matching, plaid, GAP shirts? Or maybe one is sitting in her study writing an essay for the latest Harvard Psychology Textbook, while the other is preparing his final testimony in a social justice trial. Whatever, they definitely aren't my parents. It's not that I'm saying these kid-buyers have all the answers or are making the kinds of decisions I would have even wanted to have the privilege of making in my 20's, it's just the fact that they have the option.

I do believe that we have the ability to raise loving and compassionate children. We may not own a big home and our debt to income ratio is pitiable, to say the least, but we have very attainable goals as parents that we both hold true to our hearts. We want to ensure that our children know love and compassion and that their dreams are properly supported. For me, personally and most importantly, is that they grow up bearing witness to love, forgiveness, and vulnerability. I want them to view as many resolutions as they do arguments between Paul and me since my siblings and I were never given that as children and I grew up believing violence and abandonment were the answer to every relationship problem I was faced with.

These are my hopes for my family. Financial stability, a large home, and getting out of quarantine would all be pretty rad too, but I believe all of that will come in time.

What in the Actual Fuck

Yes, I'm stoned. Because that's what mothers do! This evening, I literally had to pin my 20-pound son to the ground with my legs just to get him to stop moving long enough to let me put his damn diaper on. Seriously, this is not easy. He lost his running-around-the-house-naked privilege two nights ago when he pissed in 5 different places, with one of them being on our living room window. The cord to the blind was saturated in urine. When I discovered the puddle, my 18-month-old son hopped off the radiator and ran into the kitchen. I began wiping it up and shortly after started to wonder where Jude had gone, why was he so quiet. Then I saw the first of multiple tiny turds near our bookshelf, I Hanseled and Greteled the little crumbs of shit as it lead me into the kitchen where I discovered a low key, but still shocking pile of poop near my son's foot. I lifted my head and we locked eyes for only a moment before he picked up his knee and stomped his foot directly into it. I screamed and ran over to him, lifted him over my head, and beelined it for the bathtub, only to discover, en route, my 7-year-old basset hound eating each individual turd on the floor, licking his lips in between.

What the actual fuck is this? They said it would be hard, that I was prepared for; but my son's shit being licked off the living room floor by my dog's tongue; the violent wrestle with a little beefcake, literally 1/10 my size; me singing "I Will Always Love You" as I imagine throwing him out the window while he kicks me in the knee cap repeatedly; none of that I could have ever been prepared for.

Oh, but he is cute. He smiles and giggles at the most outrageous moments; My husband's offensive wit; A loud belch after a quick dinner; Oliver getting hit in the ass by a bouncing rubber ball. He growls, coos, whispers, but doesn't speak yet. Motherhood is the biggest cluster fuck I have ever experienced. I love him, hate him, resent him, adore him, battle with him, and, sometimes, hide from him in the bathroom just to breathe and reset before facing his twelfth temper tantrum of the morning. At the end of the day, I need a cocktail, within an hour I miss him, and I can't help but sneak into his room, risking waking him, just to stare down at his limp little body, sleeping soundly in his crib. I talk about him, almost nudging his name into completely unrelated topics just to chat for a moment about his tiny butt, his big belly, and his gut-wrenching smile.

Seriously, what in the actual fuck is this?