Suffering and Joy

Life is completely different. People ask how I still have time to write, but I think it’s something I do to feel normal for a few moments. Everything else is haywire.

For the record, caring for a newborn is harder than taking call, because it never ends. Sleeping feels like that moment at two A.M. when you’ve finished your to-do list and wonder if it’s worth trying to get some shut-eye before being paged with the next admission or question from the needy night nurse. D and I lie in bed wondering, will she stay asleep this time? Will she cry in ten minutes, and if so, should we let her cry to sleep or check again to see if she needs to be burped, diapered, or fed?

My day passes in a sleep-deprived litany of breastfeeding. It feels like that’s all I do with my life, though I console myself with the fact that I’m essentially running five miles a day. Then again, working out doesn’t leave you with breasts so hard and engorged you can’t sleep (sorry for those I just grossed out). My mom once said you just can’t imagine the kind of changes your body goes through after birth, and she’s pretty much right.

But then there’s the totally amazing experience of being with E. Coming to realize I love her has been less a moment of ecstasy and more a sure, gradual feeling. Holding her just after giving birth simply felt surreal, foreign. No tearful, emotional climax. But every day since then I’ve marveled more, laughed more, just felt more. Part of it is the product of constantly serving her, part of it is coming to know her more. Touching, smelling, watching her face contort when she poops or swallows or sits in her post-feed high, limp and happy.

Suffering and joy. Both deeper than I might have thought or been prepared for, but I suppose God gives the strength to receive both, each never-ending cycle of feeding and sleeping. There are the little breaks, the moments of grace, like D holding my hand at night, the green trees outside the nursery window and the cooling breeze, my mom’s carefully prepared meals, and the moments I get a little more sleep and am able to feel more lucidly myself. Things will be okay.