Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow...

          After we had our first son, T, we moved to Portland when he was 18 months, I was drawn to the weather reports like moths to the light. Was it going to rain all day? Was I going to be sequestered – INSIDE – with a toddler? Weather reports became my daily affirmation or punishment. My destiny waited and the long span of existence trapped with a little person would once again be decided in numbers and images of clouds. Maybe I was a bit depressed or just in shock. Before we moved to Portland, I was a working woman. My life was not about making it to 5:30pm when my husband walked in the door. My life felt more about hosting parties and celebrating life with girlfriends and taking long walks with my significant other. I spent weekends in Chicago shopping and running along Lake Michigan. For 35 years I had been living for myself, trying to learn to grow up and be a good worker and a friend and a partner. Having a child anchored me in a good way, though, and I just had to learn to juggle getting a shower, daycare drop off and finding time to eat. Just as I had not remotely learned to balance any of this, we moved. I quit my job. Suddenly, I was in a new town with a small boy who I had no idea what to “do” with day in and day out. Life felt crazy and stagnant at the same time as if my life had died and was replaced by aliens.

After we had moved to Portland, my new job as a stay-at-home mom included a daily search to seek out other moms. I found an ongoing Tuesday morning group and I’d stare deep into their eyes wondering what their perspectives were of life with children. Was this fun? Was this interesting? Those moms all seemed content to be discussing babies: nursing babies, changing diapers, the best wipes, age appropriate toys, music classes, food prep, allergies. This was not what I wanted to discuss: sleep deprivation, how boring this felt, how frustrated my 18 month old was and how lost I felt in this decision to have a child and not be sleeping or doing things that I enjoyed, living in a new city with no friends. Their lives were the life of this little person and I felt so alienated for feeling differently. I felt like a fraud. I dreamed of getting a hotel room for two nights and just being alone. Left alone to sleep and think and cry and make phone calls and lay there. I was so tired. This little boy never slept well until he was five and had dropped naps by the time he was three.

         Sleep deprivation spread out for hours because T had woken up at some ghastly hour of 5am ready to be grumpy and challenging and make the day even longer. No gatherings start for stay at home moms until at least 10am. I was often done with breakfast for T and I by 6:30am. It was cloudy and cold outside and unsuitable for walks that early. He didn’t watch shows yet, though I stared hard at the Today show while clutching my coffee and wiping tears from my eyes hoping he didn’t notice. He didn’t.