The Birth, Louise Bourgeoise
On August 1 at 12:18AM my daughter was born. It was two days of labor and four hours of pushing before she emerged, vacuum assisted. And it has taken me nearly two months to return to something as inconsequential as this blog. Time has shifted, life has changed, and I am, like the caterpillar, metamorphosed.
In these two months she has learned to sleep, cry, breastfeed, take a bottle, track objects, and smile. I have learned how to lug a car seat, a diaper bag, and a stroller up 3 flights of stairs. I have learned how to wait to change the diaper until after she eats, when no doubt, she will have quickly processed the milk she has just taken. I have learned how to swaddle and she has learned how to bust through each one. I have learned how to wear her while doing dishes, I have learned how to interview while breastfeeding, I have learned how to navigate Trader Joes with one hand holding in a pacifier and the other steering the cart. I still don't know what her cries mean, but usually they are nothing a boob won't solve.
And to be honest, it has taken me these past months to grow into motherhood. The fantastic change to me physically, the sheer exhaustion of feeding someone from one's own body, the absolute inability to do anything I may actually want to do for myself, were all an assault to my senses that left me reeling, insecure, and downright panicked. I know they say that as soon as you find your rhythm, the tempo changes. But for now I welcome the brief pause.
