I wrote this 2 weeks ago, and tossed it aside. Not for the blog, I thought. Too fragmented and emotional. When I read it again this morning, I recanted. I should post this. Because it’s fragmented and emotional, and I’m sure some of you will relate.
I love my new job. And it’s making it harder and easier to be a mom.
I get a break from the incessant demands of home and children. I ride my bike up the hill and sit at a desk and order lunch and walk about freely, where I’d like when I’d like. I’m making money, which feels blissfully good. Being at home has a new sweetness to it.
I have so little time to spend with Jo, just the two of us. I’m coming to terms with just how many hits our time together has taken in the last year: baby Cal joining the menagerie, Jo starting pre-school and me starting this job. This time last year, I spent all but 12 hours a week with Jo, traipsing to parks, wrestling him into rest time, gardening and navigating his physical outbursts sometimes with patience and other times by screaming in his face and then being racked with tears and guilt.
Ah yes, there was that. It’s easy to forget from this place, where unlimited time with Jo is the greener pasture. That damned greener pasture—always re-locating to somewhere other than where I am.
It’s such a radical shift to suddenly need to schedule time to hang out with Jo. So much so that I haven’t really done it at all. And I miss him. I miss the team that we used to be—sure, it wasn’t all roses, but he was my sidekick.
I worry that he may be suffering as a result. His crazy dips into extreme hyper-ness, run-by pinching of Cal.
And here’s the truth of it. It’s harder for me to connect with him these days not just because I have less time, but because I just don’t understand him as well.
Somehow, in the past couple of years, he’s slowly morphed from a soft innocent into a hard, fast trickster. And it’s harder for me to like him.
Right around that same time, I gave birth to blonde Cal. Sweet blonde Cal, into whose sweet, chubby softness I can dive for hours and feel an easy bliss.
I’ve been avoiding one child and seeking refuge in the other.
And the less I connect with Jo, the harder it gets. And the stranger he seems to me.
This division of myself between my two sons, this is what I worried about when thinking of having another baby—having to shift my attention between 2.
Is this just the inevitable course of our relationship? This slowly widening distance over which it feels too hard to bridge?
In having a second child, was I unknowingly signing myself up to lose my closeness with the first?