Disclaimer: this sloppy collection of a few thoughts and words has been written practically one sentence at a time between feedings, naps, meltdowns and freak outs, because: yes, we are in the OG goblin mode: the fourth trimester.
It’s no joke that bringing a baby into the world without any actual practice is probably up there with all of life’s most difficult things. People talk about how hard it is, and it’s even harder than I was ever prepared for. I can’t decide if its life cranked up on full volume, or if it feels like the opposite of having a life. The only other thing I’ve experienced that I can compare it to is when you’re short staffed at a bar or restaurant job and you get a rush that’s beyond your capabilities where you can’t stop for even a moment to fathom how overloaded your nervous system is: except instead of a room packed full of thirsty customers it’s just one sweet little baby who depends on you for survival. Instead of pouring pints, you’re serving milk from your breasts. Instead of getting drunk after work and sleeping till noon, this shift never ends. Maybe one day I’ll write about the birth story and my postpartum experience… especially after infertility (is that even interesting to people?!), but at the moment I’m still in the soup, just trying to find moments here and there that make me feel human.
I will say this: I don’t think that raising babies and transitioning into our new parent identities should exist in a vacuum. Because of pandemic lockdown, bad weather, and just the lack of actual community in modern life in general, we have been doing this mostly by ourselves. I was lonely in infertility, but boy oh boy these first six weeks of newborn life have been isolating. On walks with the baby I find myself veering the pram beside strolling nonnas, hoping that they’ll sneak a nosy peek of Rocky and say “what a beautiful bambino” and maybe try to pinch his cheek or talk baby talk at him. I just want for him to exist in the world beyond my arms and our little apartment. I would also appreciate feeling like I, myself, exist. I keep saying “spring is coming, spring is coming, spring is coming” as a prayer of hope for better days (if you know Ontario springtime weather, you know that this chant can go on for quite some time before it manifests as reality!). I bet you all have been doing it too. It feels like what you say to make people comfortable and swiftly change the subject after you’ve opened up about how bad your mental health has been this winter: “oh well, spring is coming!”
This one page doodle diary represents the extent of my creative abilities at the moment. I’m impressed that I was even able to sneak these scribbles in. If you want to know the truth, I’m actually terrible at drawing! My finished pieces are the result of concerted and meticulous effort, and a great reliance on google image search. Sketching out my life like this feels stupid and free and I love it! That being said, I miss making art and am terrified I won’t be able to ever find a place for it in this new life!
I’m opening up my shop again sometime this week with a 20% off back-in-business sale. I’ll be shipping out my orders weekly on Mondays. Thank you for reading!