I turned 31 in June. Birthdays sting a little when you’re a mom to young children. It’s like getting sick as a mom — the caregiving doesn’t stop when you need or want it to. My inner child becomes a bit petulant when it’s my birthday. I was secretly hoping that my birthday would be awesome this year, because last year for my 30th birthday, (a big one!), I was extremely pregnant and extremely exhausted and couldn’t muster the energy to even care very much about celebrating. But my birthday this year was kind of a crappy day, way too hot, kids fussy, and at the end of the day I threw myself a little pity party because I was so tired and felt kind of bitter, and also so disappointed that I hadn’t just taken it all in stride and let the day’s difficulties roll off my back like I always think I ought to.
It might be that the postpartum depression lingers on, it might just be the particular season I’m in with my particular children, but it’s really hard for me to step away and spend time alone either working or resting. It feels all the time like I’m in a fast moving current and I don’t know how to take a breather or remember who or where I am. Both kids really need me, and are upset when I leave them, and my toddler in particular is in an especially clingy “mommy” moment, throwing major tantrums in which I am the central problem and solution. It all brings mom guilt to the forefront of my internal narrative in a way that is really uncomfortable and that I want to be less bothered by. Shouldn’t I have figured out a way through this by now? I haven’t. When I’m caring for my kids I’m wishing for a break, and when I take a break (or, you know, work), I feel bad. And then, sometimes, rare whisps of momentary ease. I catch them and breathe in, like a cool breeze in a heat wave.
I wanted to write some sort of self-reflective birthday essay, as I tend to like to do — but I didn’t, and now it feels like the moment has passed me by. That’s ok. I don’t need to know exactly how I feel about myself at every single moment of my life. And, right now, I really don’t know. My sense of self feels so slippery, so wrapped up in my sense of my children’s selves. Our enmeshment is at an all-time-high. With one child, I think I was able to hang onto that interiority more easily. Now, with two, most days just sweep me along in that current I mentioned earlier.
It’s not fully unpleasant, to just be present and active within my life, to stop ruminating so much. But it’s unusual for me, historically. Rumination has kind of always been my thing.
My baby just turned one. Another huge thing that makes me want to stop and really think and feel about all that has happened, is happening. Oh, my sweet second baby. Ben. The year flew, and it didn’t. He’s so his own person, different than his brother. I’m learning how to mother him — how to help him feel cozy, how to make him laugh and smile, what to do when he needs help, what he likes and dislikes. This year I’ve seen our older son explode into his personality and ability to verbalize what he thinks and feels, which makes our younger son feel all the more like a beautiful mystery. Who are you? I wonder often when I look at him. To know he is complete as he is and that so much more will be revealed over time. Childhood as slow revelation. What an amazing thing to bear witness to. I grieve the fact that he gets less of me than his brother did. The love multiplied, but my time and capacity did not. This is just how it is, but I hate it every time he has to wait for me because I’m wrapped up in something going on with his brother. And vice versa. Two kids is twice as many as one. But Ben is gentle and so loving even when he isn’t showered with endless undivided attention. He is a bright light in our family, and we all adore him. What an honor to get to be his mom!
And I’m still just myself, the same person I was when I was born. Meeting myself in motherhood, remembering my child self in dreamlike waves. Being pushed to my limits in something so existentially affirming as motherhood feels very right and good — but I’d be lying if I said I was thriving. For all the ways I know I am right where I am supposed to be, there are a hundred questions about where I am going, and a hundred small but significant discomforts clawing at my back.
I don’t know how long things will be moving at this breakneck speed. I don’t know how long I will be bereft of the space to reflect and take up all the space I need and want to. I’m reminded of a poem I wrote a while ago — I’ll see if I can find it. Ah, here it is. (P.S. poem line breaks work best on substack on desktop rather than mobile, apologies to my phone readers!)
I’ve closed off so many of the rooms of
my soul. I live now in one bright room filled
with toys, with noise, with children.
How many times have I oversteeped the tea
out of pure forgetfulness? There’s a room in
me where I remember. A room in me where
I plant the garden I imagine I could plant.
A room in me where I am a very good friend.
Those rooms, down the long hall, doors
closed and locked. For a time, for a time.
Life is long, and it changes. In this room, I
am vigilant, and I dance to the music. In this
room I compose endless snacks, then clean
up endless crumbs. This beautiful room is
a whole life. This beautiful room is holding
my body in a soft repose, in a posture of
loving, in the embrace of a sofa and a
child’s body draped over mine.
I live now in one bright room. This poem came to mind the other day, and I felt grateful for the language to help me feel what I’m experiencing. I miss my hallways, the other spaces in me. But they remain, they aren’t gone. I just can’t go there right now. Can’t enter those rooms, touch all the things inside. And this room, of all-in totality, of my young children’s bright chaos, is a beautiful place to live. It reminds me of the way I miss all the places I’ve ever lived, every dorm room and apartment — the way a full version of myself lived and then was left there. The walks I used to take, the windows, the shapes. That nostalgia for past lives, past selves. It’s strong. But this place, where I live now, will be my future yearning. I’ll long to hold my little babies in my arms again, in all their wildness and noise. The way tears spring to my eyes while I write that! It’s so emotional!
Anyway, I’m proud of myself for my capacity to remain devoted every day. It’s amazing how easy it is not to give up even when things are very hard, even when I feel a little bit exhausted in my own spirit. My children are more dear to me than any amount of self-posession, self-reflection. That’s real love, I guess. That’s love.
In honor of my birthday, and just for fun, here are just a few of my favorite things! If I had the money I would buy them all for myself but… the budget says otherwise. Fun to dream!
*****
cropped babaa cardigan — babaa is my all time favorite sweater source, I wish I had every style and every color. I buy them secondhand to commemorate special occasions like having babies.
baggu shoulder bag — I am not in need of a new bag but I want this one anyway. I’ve been eyeing it for months. Such a great mix of elegance and casual-ness.
gold necklace — I’m in search of a simple everyday necklace that can hold up to some wear and tear. Idk if this is the one but it’s lovely.
milk frother — my current milk frother can’t go in the dishwasher, so I don’t use it as often as I would like. wishing for this dishwasher-safe version atm.
That was such a wonderful poem (and essay!). I always have a knee-jerk expectation when I see poetry in a blog that it won't be very good - maybe it's the fact of encountering it on a screen, maybe just that most of the internet poets I've seen actually aren't very good - but this one I really felt. "There's a room in me where I remember" - I'll be thinking about/remembering that line all day.
Happy Birthday dear Amy, and Ben! 💗