Fits and starts (A dispatch from the fourth trimester)

I tried to start writing last year, in between IVF transfers, and then things fell apart. I finally got pregnant and found that my second pregnancy was not unlike my first - physically demanding, emotionally exhausting. My perinatal anxiety and depression returned, along with my second trimester migraines. In December we told our daughter that she would be a big sister and in January she stopped sleeping. My therapist closed her practice. Work buried me as I tried to keep up and prepare for maternity leave. I gave up on a lot of things.

But now my son is here. Postpartum is so tender and challenging, but somehow less so now that I know it ends. I am five weeks out and I am exhausted. But I know that soon he will smile and I will find the will to keep breastfeeding for hours on end. I predictably hate all of my clothes again because, despite having lost nearly all of the pounds I gained, everything feels out of place. I am desperate for a moment to myself - in the form of a shower, a drive down the hill to scoop up the library holds, a trip to the farm to pick up our CSA share.

It will take time for the tectonic plates to settle. For now, I am finding the smallest spaces to breathe - stepping outside in the morning, pouring a tiny juice glass of wine at dinner, writing these missives in my notes app while nursing every hour in the evenings.