Paradise Lost?

Sometimes life occurs faster than I can blog about it.  The Reader's Digest version goes something like this: I had a setback with my meds (or lack there of) but a combination support from David, talking to my parents, and shoe shopping provided a temporary fix.  I'm now back on my medicine, but at half the dose I was on before, and the new plan is to slowly wean me off this time.  While I'm kind of bummed that I wasn't able to simply quit the medication and move on with my life, David reminded me that recovering from PPD is a process, and despite the occasional set back, I'm still moving forward.

In happier news, I made a friend on my street, which is pretty cool.  She seems to have the whole SAHM routine down, but she issues plenty of humor and sarcasm, so I think we'll get along well.  And she gave me the number of a good babysitter, which, for those of you without children, is a feeling like Christmas morning and fitting into your college jeans all rolled into one.  Now maybe David and I can actually go out for once without having to apologize to the table next to us because our child launched a stuffed octopus at them.

I was having margaritas with a friend on Friday (a fellow mother, but one who has a career) and she very gently but seriously asked, "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe you're not meant to be a SAHM?"

The answer to that question is, "Only like 10 million times a day..."  At least 10 times a week I swear I'm going to give up and just go back to work.  And the question that plagues my mind is: why is it so hard for me to stay home, when it's so easy for other women?  Now, don't get me wrong, I know being a SAHM is hard for anyone, but it seems ESPECIALLY hard for me.

When I look at the situation logically, it doesn't make sense that staying home is so hard.  There's nothing intrinsically difficult about being a SAHM.  If the baby and I are still alive and functional by the time David gets home, my job is done.  I don't even have one of those husbands who expects dinner to be waiting or the house to be clean.  And my mom and grandmother were both SAHMs who did just fine, so it's not like I'm genetically predisposed to balking at SAHM-hood.  So why do I struggle so much?

I think the answer lies somewhere in my past.  As I've mentioned before, I used to have a career, but I was also fiercely independent (read: selfish).  Even when I met David, that didn't change much.  For some reason, he found the fact that I was obnoxiously egocentric to be endearing. 

But then SURPRISE!  I was pregnant. 

I call them “surprises”, but let’s be honest here: unless you are carrying the offspring of a deity or have somehow managed to make it this far in life without anyone having ever explained to you where babies come from, pregnancy should not be a true “surprise”.  

Despite logically knowing this, I have never been more surprised in my life than when I looked down and saw two pink lines on my at-home pregnancy test.  I was so surprised that, despite a dozen or so ultrasounds, an endless succession of doctors visits, and eventually a watermelon-sized belly, I would spend the next nine months expecting Ashton Kutcher to jump out of a closet and tell me I’d been punk’d.

But it was real, and 9 months later (well technically 8, because Jack was born a month early), I was a mommy.  Realizing that I could not be both simultaneously a selfish person and a good mother, I put away every vestige of my old life, and even gave up my career.  The only problem with that is, now I have no idea who I am or what I'm supposed to be doing.

So I'm trying to learn.  Unfortunately there's no book out there titled, How to Go from Being the Center of Your Own Universe to a Stay-At-Home-Mom.  So I guess that's why I'm writing this blog.  Because seriously, I have no clue what I'm doing, and it helps to bridge the gap between who I was and who I am.

And I even learned a new lesson, courtesy of my new neighbor-friend: It's okay to let your child play in the dirt.  See, I never let Jackson play in the dirt because he's still crawling.  But she convinced me to let go of him and let him play in a big pile of leaves.  Aside from having to pry an acorn out of my son's mouth, everything went well, and now I'm not afraid to let him crawl around in the dirt.

Maybe if I keep this up, one day I'll know what the heck I'm doing.  But until then, learning lessons about Motherhood, making it up as I go, and not knowing what I'm doing are all part of the process of "recapturing myself".  I may not know who I am, but I know who I once was, and my hope is by going through all this, one day I'll know who I am again and be better for it.