After the Storm

So.

Motherhood.

It’s obviously taken me some time to getting around to blogging again. Mainly because typing one handed is somewhat laborious. The Prawn is not so amenable to being put down unless in a deep state of unconsciousness. When I have visions of never again being able to get anything accomplished, I must remind myself that she is only two weeks old and does not grasp complex concepts like laundry, paying bills and other people eating. I miss eating.

But unconscious is just the way we like her at the moment. Awake generally means shouting, but at the moment, as her American grandparents are here, there are two extra sets of arms to hold her every minute of the day, so it means lots more peace and quiet. It’s strange how quickly you can forget what things were like WITHOUT a baby once one moves into your house- our flat is really rather peaceful.

It’s obviously taken some adjusting. Mr. DD and I are having to learn to take turns doing everything. “Here, hold this,” has become the most uttered phrase in the house over the past two weeks. We miss eachother, to be honest- after almost 12 year together as constant companions, getting used to life as a threesome is a little bit of a rude awakening. The sleeplessness, I expected. The crying, the diapers, none of it a surprise. But missing my husband when he’s sitting in the same room…that was a bit of a shock.

I was expecting to have something eminently profound to say about the state of parenthood after infertility, but I’ve been struggling to find any profundity in my everyday life at the moment. My daughter is beautiful. I love her extremely long toes at the end of her tiny feet. I love the way her head smells after we shampoo her hair. I wake up in the night whenever she makes one of those alarming baby noises that makes it sound like they’re choking on half a club sandwich. (Damn those noises. They suck.) But I think that my feelings right now are pretty basic and fairly common. Fear of screwing up, especially when left on my own. Joy that she’s finally arrived and that she’s safe and healthy. Sorrow for the life that we had before. And just the general dose of screwed-uppedness that most new mothers find themselves facing. I’d feel vaguely silly trying to shed any new light on early motherhood. The best I can manage in the way of insight is to say, “Yeah. Me too.”

It’s going to get easier. I suspect this because everyone tells me so. And, like 70 different people with children under the age of 2 aren’t all likely to be wrong. It’s just hard to believe that all will be well while we are currently doing our best walking dead impression and the colicky Prawn is squealing bloody murder in my earhole.

To be continued.