One week ago, our family welcomed a beautiful baby boy into our lives. He will be named tomorrow at his bris! It was a surreal experience and I have absolutely still not processed the fact that I have a son. Or that I am now a mother of two children. We are now a family of four. Incredible. I am flooded with gratitude for the ability to have gotten pregnant, carried our baby (for 42 weeks nonetheless…) and delivered him safely into the world. When I look at his tiny little body and his cherub cheeks, I wonder how it is possible that the human body can literally build something from nothing. A tiny factory manufacturing bones and hair and organs and nails, perfectly packaged just in time for delivery day. It is beyond comprehension that such an extraordinary act happens around the clock, around the world.
How am I feeling? Well, it’s all coming back to me, slowly but surely. Tidbits of knowledge and a flood of memories from when Reva was first born are filling my mental coffee cup. Drip, drip, drip. It’s been almost a week, and this morning is the first time that I am alone in my apartment with my baby. The quiet is a welcome respite, at least for a few minutes until it will burst like a balloon, pierced by the cry of hunger. After a few days in the hospital we went to my in-laws so that we could have extra help with Reva during those most difficult first days and nights (thank you, Katz fam!) and then finally drove back home yesterday, two kids and 27 bags of stuff in tow.
I’d completely forgotten how much stuff little ones come with. Contraptions of every kind that everyone swears you don’t need but if you find one that helps your kid sleep or soothe or stay warm, it’s all you’ll talk about to anyone who will listen. We squeezed two carseats into our SUV, only to realize we need a new SUV. Oops. We’re playing Jenga within our apartment, moving all the bric-a-brac out to make the space more functional for my new life as a 24/7 milk maid. All of the decorative wedding dishes that were collecting dust are being wrapped in the Arts section and moved to storage. Bags upon bags of old coats and shoes are on their way to the Salvation Army. Jewelry is being cleaned and contained, away from clawing little hands on the loose. And dreams about paintings and plants are temporarily on hold, replaced by design choices of less grandeur. Where will the rocking chair reside? Will his clothes fit comfortably in the canals of our TV console? And how about the ginormous breast pump and all her elusive parts? Where can we store bottles and flanges and tangled wires for easy access but also out of sight? It’s all a game of creativity when it comes to NYC living. And we wouldn’t trade it for the world. Yet.
Physically, it’s been an easier recovery this time around, maybe because it was so crazy hard with Reva, or maybe it’s just easier because every birth and every child is different. That’s what keeps life exciting, I suppose. Mentally, I’m capable of appreciating the newborn snuggles alongside the sleep deprivation because I know how short lived his time as a shar pei puppy is. I feel more calm when he cluster feeds for two hours straight, despite the throbbing pain and uncomfortable soreness. I feel more at peace when he falls asleep on me, actually soaking it all in between our skin, no longer running to drop him in the bassinet for fear of a bad habit. I look at him with a healthy mix of pride and fear and adoration and wonder. Who will you become, my son? What will you bring to the world? I’m only starting to process the world as a new butterfly, finally cracked out of my cocoon.
In any case, I’ll write more to you soon, but for now, I’m sending hugs and whiffs of that coveted newborn smell that makes the world go round. May your day be full of splendor.
With love,
Jane