The Void

I go to bed at night depressed, sad, defeated. Most new moms cannot wait to get into bed, but not me. While I absolutely melt holding my new son, I cannot help but feel the void left by my mother.

My brother in law tells me I need to give time time. My therapist confirms that I am still in mourning. And all of the women who have lost their mother that I have spoken to me tell me that they still miss there mom, whether its been ten years or ten months.

A friend of my sisters tells her that after losing his mother at 95 when he was 67 feels like an orphan. I feel like an orphan. I know I have a great family, a loving husband who is a fantastic dad, an amazing sister, an inappropriate brother, two impressive grandmothers, an emotionally immature but loving father. But they are not my mom.

It’s so hard coming home and not seeing my message light blinking on the answering machine. I wanted so badly to report to her what happened at the pediatrician’s office. I want her opinion, her advice, her ear. I want my mom, my best friend.

I can go from beaming happiness to a flood of tears thinking about her and how I only have a finite number of memories and experiences with her. We were incredibly close and I know most people do not spend half of the time I did with my mom, let alone quality time, and that I am so lucky. But wow, it really does not numb the pain.

I’m going to migrate downstairs in the hopes of getting my newborn to sleep.

It’s a boy

I have a new baby boy who is as handsome as a new baby can be. Unlike my last delivery, this one was not nearly as traumatic. My husband tells me I yelled the same things during the contractions.

This is not fun.
I don’t like this.
I really don’t like this.
I’ve had enough.

Of course, last time I remember pleading for more epidural, a cesarean, anything to stop the excruciating pain.

My water broke in the morning but that was not enough to deter my husband from going for a jog and leaving his cell phone at home.

I confess that I was a little surprised it was a boy. My sister spent several therapy sessions discussing her concern about having a son, I’ve only had a few days to consider it. So far, so great. My son is just a perfect little angel and my daughter has surprised me with her tenderness towards him. So, no complaints in that regard.

Of course, I cannot help but feel this gigantic void that my mom has left.

Haute Mamma

As far as pregnancies go, I do feel like a haute mom. I’m literally only carrying in my belly. From behind I don’t even look pregnant, so much so that people do not mind shoving me from behind. (Hey, I live in New York.)

I guess tragedy will curb one’s appetite. It’s also curbed my desire to dress cute, although my sister and I did buy two matching shirts from Tracey Reese the other day. I wouldn’t have bought it but it was on sale and my sister was getting the same one and it made me feel good briefly. Like other clothes we bought together, I hope this will also remind me of our shopping experience.

I know my mom would want us to go on living and enjoying life but it is just so so hard and I’m so lonely. Every time the phone rings, I expect it to be my mom searching for an update, saying hello, offering advice, or reporting even the most mundane details of her life.

I’m trying, Mom. I’m trying. It’s just painfully hard.

The Waiting Game

I don’t do well waiting, especially when it is for an indefinite period. I love surprises but I desperately want someone to tell me something beforehand.

Because my husband did not want to know the sex of our first child, we didn’t. The weeks leading up to her delivery were excruciating and I wanted to add something besides white and yellow to my new child’s wardrobe.

This pregnancy I was okay not knowing the gender, as it really does not matter, but I am still curious what items I should save or bring out for the newbie and which ones to pass along. Even more frustrating than waiting to learn the sex of the baby is contemplating when D-Day will be.

There have been signs indicating that it could be sooner than later. Signs that I am reluctant to share because I do not know people’s gross out gauge. (skip ahead if you have a low tolerance.)

As of four days ago, I am 3 centimeters dilated and last night my mucus plug broke leading my husband to nearly gag, no bucket necessary unlike in the delivery room. But now I must wait, and wait and wait.

I imagine I’m as ready as I’ll ever be and I really hope to have a spontaneous labor, none of this planned inducement like last time. But as I’m confirming on a regular basis, man plans and G-d laughs.