Posted by Duff

I was blindsided this weekend.

My first trimester with MC was not pleasant physically. I felt pretty sick, I wanted little food. But I was in a fairly good mood, and then (like now) I was thrilled to be pregnant and any discomforts were (and still are) well worth it.

But. I had not factored in that around the time I started feeling better and began feeling what a friend calls lumberjack hungry and MC settled on a nerve that made me at my best when on the couch, that The Dervish would renew her newborn obsession with me. Maybe because of a growth spurt (how can she eat me under the table?), definitely because she’s going through something confusing and I’m adding to it with new baby talk.

She has never been one to play by herself. At all. All of her caregivers have mentioned it to me. She has never been a fan of me eating (this is how I lost my pregnancy weight and how I continue to carry small with MC, I think), but the last couple of weeks have been building up to me doing a whole lot of losing my temper.

Being a mother means never being #1 in the moment – unless you’re affixing your own oxygen mask before your child’s, of course – I just never thought I could weep because I couldn’t keep my child otherwise-occupied long enough to eat half a chicken salad sandwich.  It took me back to colic, and it’s not a time I want to relive four months out from having MC.

The physical sensations, the hunger that won’t be satisfied, the sudden snugness of roomy clothing tell me that I’m in the middle of a big Pop. It’s about that time. Bring on the waddle.

But each time The Dervish, who already wishes to spend every waking moment engaged in The Best I’ve Got To Entertain Her drops sleep to extend those waking hours, rubbing her eyes, claiming sleepiness, marching back and forth from bedroom to living room, my patience winds up one spool circumference tighter. 

We all know how that ends. And you’d think The Dervish would – after many nights and naptimes rounding the cobbler’s bench.

I am saddened each time she surrenders to bedtime more to escape my mood than to get some rest. I feel guilty that I breathe a sigh of relief when she is finally sleeping. I berate myself in the shower as I try to wash away frustration and vow to be more understanding tomorrow. 

I’m not the mom I want to be. That mom doesn’t growl, she perseveres. She doesn’t get low blood sugar, or at least she doesn’t let it show. But then again, she is someone I concocted in my head before I had a child.

And now have to think of MC, which for the next four months means taking care of myself, literally. An elbow just told me it’s snack time, then bedtime. So, if you’ll excuse me,

We’ve all got some growing to do.