Silence. The house is so quiet, I can hear the pitter patter of the light rain tapping the roof of our new house. The tree house, as we call it. We moved in three days ago and yet we feel like we have inhabited this “house in the clouds” for a lifetime. I watch my daughter spin and twirl and prance in glee as she mentions to every welcomed guest that this is her new home. A home that I know will bring us deep joy and artistic freedom as we feel, up here, we are closer to god. We are happy. Truly happy.
And then I get this pang in my gut. A pulling type feeling that I’ve experienced before. I know why we moved. We moved to have more space. We were so bloated in our old place from the accumulation of stuff that we were starting to get messy in our minds and unsettled in our hearts. We moved so we could have more room to accommodate the patter of more tiny feet. Oh crap. We are finally here. We have finally moved and that then begs the question “when is baby number two?”
Motherhood is something you truly cannot explain to someone that has not walked the path. I remember our production company pitching a show about a young mother before I’d actually became a young mother and then they turned down the show because they said “I don’t think you know what it entails Tammin, so how could you truthfully write about the experience?”. I was livid. How dare they. I thought. I can imagine what it’s like. Right?! Wrong.
Motherhood is a fully encompassing, selfless journey through uncharted roads that is painful and confusing and awe-inspiring and life altering. It builds a type of growth that one only experiences though a true shift of identity by a monumental event. It questions everything you knew before you had kids and blankets your heart in so much joy and love that it makes you breathless. It is something beyond measure.
So why the fear? What holds us back from duplicating that type of love osmosis? I know for me the fear stems from those first few unhinged months. Those months of zombie sleep induced thoughts of failure and guilt. Those months of unstructured mess and unknown feelings. Of questioning every ability that you thought you had and re-learning how to be a “different” type of female. We came out on the other side. We came out on the other side better and stronger and more connected than ever before. Some aren’t so lucky.
So now that we are on the other side how are we meant to go though it again? A first pregnancy is so ignorantly blissful. I see my pregnant friends who jibe about the sleepless nights and cute baby designer booties and I zip my lip. I don’t talk about the sleep deprivation that is so severe that your memory starts to go and you put your phone in the fridge (true story, it happened to me. Twice) or that you wont give a rats about anything designer as you change your child for the 9th time. I don’t say anything, not for fear of scaring them, but because until someone experiences it, the words don’t land.
But I so want another child. I want one so badly that I can feel him/her with me. I close my eyes and I can smell their smell. My body is so ready that it’s frustrated. I hear their name as I drift off to slumber and I know it won’t be too long until we meet each other .
So here I am. So far forward and yet so idle. So happy and yet so fractious. So ready for baby number two and yet so ill- prepared. So soon, maybe in a month, maybe in a year, maybe in two, I will just have to jump. Jump into the unknown, knowing that whatever happens, we will come out on the other end. Different, challenged but bathed in so much love.