Back to Work

For the past six weeks I did almost nothing. I mean, besides keep a newborn alive. The path from my bed to the bathroom and back was well trodden. Life was slow in motion, each day impossibly long. I would start the day by opening my shutters to the morning sun and sit there until I could see the mountain colored by the sunset. What has been a postpartum period has seemed more like a decade of my life. I bowed out of mostly all of my responsibilities, even the ones associated with being a mother.

My husband did everything. Laundry, cleaning, cooking, answering the door, scrubbing the kitchen floor, and carried anything that weighed over ten pounds. He became the sole caretaker of The Chief-dressing him, changing him, putting him to bed and waking up with him at hours of the night we haven't known since college. And he did it willingly, because he wanted to help me. And I love him for it.

But last week I started to feel emotionally claustrophobic. My thoughts weren't going anywhere, they were just sticking inside my brain and rotting my hope. I felt like I was a human snow globe, shaken up and full of floating bits in my head. Nothing was settled. I had completely forgotten who I was and wondered when things would look familiar again.

Then Chup went out of town for a week leaving me with the two children and a foreign life.

It was the best thing in the world for me.

This week has reawakened me. It called me out of the shadows of postpartum. This is who I am, mother of two. And I like it. I like being a mother. I like the problem solving, the physically challenging mornings, the cleaning, the piles on the laundry floor. I like taking a shower as if I were a CIA operative who has to get in and get out before all hell breaks loose. I could eat my nap time like dessert, and drink bath time to follow. I like cheese sandwiches.

I have fallen back in love with motherhood.

And now it comes in pink.

My fellow Americans:

I am c jane and I am back.

contact me:

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