Mutable Infancy

You forget what it's like, to care for an infant. This happens almost instantaneously, I believe, making it nearly impossible for new parents to have any sort of perspective on their infant's schedule and patterns. It's all about the moment. This is probably how we continue on as a species.

You might remember things, later, in images and chunks. You might remember holding a soft, sweet-smelling baby. You might remember a feeling of camaraderie with your spouse, late nights hanging out together, watching TV and waiting for the baby to fall asleep. You might remember all the wonderful firsts and how fleeting the stages seem in retrospect.

You probably forget that much of the baby holding time was spent walking around, bouncing, trying to soothe a baby whose needs aren't apparent. You might not recall that there were times you didn't want to be holding the baby, no matter how soft and sweet-smelling it might be. You probably forget that that sense of spousal camaraderie grew out of a feeling of enduring shared hardship, that as much fun as late-night television might be, there were occasionally other things you might want to be doing, including sleeping. You probably forget how much you worried over each first, how much you feared each stage would never end, that there was something wrong with your child, that there were delays, medical problems, that the baby wouldn't survive to toddlerhood let alone beyond.

Hindsight is a fickle thing.

"You.Are.Amazing," my friend wrote me when I texted that I had all three children - my 5- and 2-year-olds, her 5-month-old - down for naps at the same time two days in a row. "You are super-mom!" my husband said. "You're ready for number 3!" they concurred.

The last two days have convinced me otherwise. I think I'm not quite ready to give up the little pockets of "me" time I squeeze into my days, the stolen moments to read, to check email, to go the bathroom alone while my girls are playing independently or together. I'm not quite ready to give up my (theoretical) two mornings a week of writing time. I'm just . . . not quite ready.