The Way We Were (Are)

I was on the subway the other day with Avery or was it Madeline and slid into a seat next to a woman just as the train lurched ahead. By slid I mean I practically tumbled into a random woman’s lap. She was quite understanding and made the requisite baby comments. She told me about her one-year-old at home. And then she said “Isn’t it really hard? Being a parent?” Who says these sort of things? To strangers on a subway?

Regardless, she picked the wrong person to talk to if she was being rhetorical because 1.) I have no problem opening up to complete strangers and 2.) I can talk for long periods of time and 3.) I find this parenting thing, to quote her, really hard.

It is insane how intimate you can get between 14th Street and 50th Street. I was happy to have an ear willing to listen to me and she was happy to unpack her dark un-PC thoughts. I even thought about staying on the train past my stop so we could talk more. But I thought that might be too much of a good thing. So we wrapped it up, a little awkwardly since I had approximately 5 seconds before the subway doors closed shut again. We wished each other luck, and she went speeding off uptown in the dark tunnel with her dark thoughts and I climbed back into the sunlight of the street, a little brighter and a little less alone.

This isn’t parenting, not quite, what I am doing. This is schedule management and feeding management and sanitation disposal and more. When exactly will I feel like a mother? Who is my role model for that?

I was (mis)lead to believe that being a mother was some sort of innate skill set. I was born with mothering abilities. I would rise to the occasion without a single fumble or stumble. I can file that away under Bullshit and Other Lies, much like the old chestnut I Will Get Pregnant When I Want To. Creating these babies took a lot of time and money and energy, and maybe being a (good) mother will take a while too. I have no idea because it is hard to find people willing to talk too much about it.

It is 10:30 on Friday night and already my old life has faded from memory. I am sitting in a dark living room with fidgety Maddie, who, despite all efforts, refuses to sleep. She has been feed and burped and cuddled and walked and bounced and put down in a swing, a bouncy seat, a crib and a co-sleeper. She has had a diaper change and an emergency issuance of gripe water. She has spent time on her acid trip playmat (way too stimulating). She enjoyed a walk in the sultry (ha) Manhattan air. She has been held in no less than six different positions. And she still will not sleep.

If I turned the lights on I am sure I would see her with a smirk on her little face, mocking our efforts. Right now she is in the swing making her loud little breathing noises in such a way that I can tell without even looking at her that her eyes are wide open. I might be better equipped to deal with this except last night was awful… hourly wakings and a stretch from 2 am till 4 am when both babies were up and wired like they just had a six pack of Red Bu*ll. And I was on my own with them from 4 pm until almost 8, when Nicole got home, which to most people might seem like no big deal, but when you have two overtired, colicky babies who desperately need to sleep and need your constant attention, you want a freaking sticker, dammit. Wit these babies, day drifts into night drifts into middle of the night and repeat. It is as if there is no beginning and no end, just an endless loop. A loop, I might add, that I don’t feel particularly “good” at.

I haven’t had much practice.

Pictured above is m-m-m-memories, light the corner of my mind, misty water color memories.…..