Pieces by Me

All pieces entered on this page are unpublished, original works. These pieces range from short fiction to poetry.

One Year Postpartum

One Year Postpartum

I am trying to remember what it was like before I became a mother. I want to remember going out without fear, being myself without judgement and the silence. It is hard to remember this now, especially with a toddler screaming for attention constantly and the pain of stepping on Little People that are scattered like land mines around a once clean home.
I love my baby, but I feel like no one talks about how postpartum feels so much longer than the few days after birth. The pains never go away and neither does that feeling of “am I ready?”, something I find myself asking a lot these days. I think I ask “am I ready” more with a one-year-old than I ever did when I first held her in my arms. I cry more now too. They don’t tell you about how much more stressful it gets after those days of “postpartum”, how your little bundle sleeping through the night is the least of your worries as they get older. Instead of sleeping, I am more concerned with her choking, playing in the toilet or falling and breaking her neck. These are valid concerns in my opinion, especially if you have ever met my toddler, who has more bravery than I know what to do with. Unlike my brave toddler, I am not brave at all. I am always afraid, afraid of that little voice who tells me I am a terrible mother, fearful of something horrible happening to her. Maybe I am just afraid of the unknown that comes with being a parent, whether it is your first time or your fifth.

Being a mother isn’t easy, no one gives you a manual on how to do it. Instead, you are thrown to the sharks and expected to survive, make it through the first year then onward. Suddenly you know everything as a mother too, my husband doesn’t seem to know much of anything now. I am the one asked about the baby, asked about where something goes in the pantry and my favorite question, “Where are the wipes?” referring to diaper wipes that seem to go missing whenever my husband is changing a diaper. He does a lot, more than I can put into words but it doesn’t keep me from feeling alone and sometimes like the only one who knows anything. The truth is, I don’t know at all! I have no idea what I am doing! My entire first year of parenting has been guesswork and now we are 14 months in, and I am still guessing, trying not to screw up.

Two nights ago, my toddler refused to eat dinner. There was nothing wrong with the dinner, it was something she normally enjoys but that night she hated it. I sat watching her lift up her booster seat and scream into the world how much she hated the food in front of her (chicken and veggies if I remember right). And in that moment of her screaming and throwing the world’s most intense tantrum over food, I stopped. I watched my husband take her out of the booster and put her down on the floor, listened to her scream and cry as he got a bath ready for her. I heard the crying from the bathroom as she decided that even a bath was not enough to get the disgusting meal out of her head. And finally, when all seemed lost, she snuggled him to read a bedtime story then drifted off to a deep sleep in her crib. Silence. And as this all went on, I sat at the table and stared off into space. I sat thinking about why I decided to become a mom, what about motherhood seemed so attractive to me, why did I think that I could do this?

The truth is, I can’t do it. This is the hardest job I have ever had, and I can’t do it but I still try every day. I don’t think any mother can say that “she can do this”, especially when her child is crying over chicken and veggies or because they took the television remote from them. I wonder if every mother has a moment where they stop. Where suddenly you are staring off into space questioning why the hell you thought motherhood would be so easy. Maybe it is television, how we see those moms on tv smiling as their baby throws food at their face, giggling when changing their baby’s diaper. Those moms are liars after all, it is all an act. Mothers on social media must even feel lost at some point, though they post photos of matching outfits with their children and hashtags like, #forevertwin and #lovemybug. There must be moms out there that feel like me. Moms that sometimes imagine life before having their child and mourn the loss of that life. It isn’t that we hate our children, we love them of course! But being a parent, being a mother is the hardest job out there and we can’t just quit. Any other job that is too hard you can choose to leave but motherhood is a forever thing. When things are tough, we must push on and we can cry about it later. The amount of crying I have done as a mother is tremendous, but I assume all mothers cry whether from the stress or the fear.

My baby is still the best thing that has ever come into my life, whether I am struggling with being a perfect mother or not. She doesn’t want me to be perfect or to be able to do motherhood with a smile always on my face, she just wants me and that is something any mother can say about their child. When she is happy, sad, or frustrated she comes to me for support. When she wants to play with toys or read a story, she will come to me. It is a feeling that warms your heart knowing that this little human being wants you. They don’t care what you look like, they don’t care about your past, they just care and love you. Children don’t have conditions; they just have love. Motherhood is hardest job in the world, but it also is the greatest thing too.  

Freedom

Laying in the bed of the truck on top of a quilt great-grandmother made for grandma when she was a baby, I watch the stars above me and wait for them to fall or maybe even burst into clouds of sparkle and ash like a firework might during the final celebration of Independence day, the last of the fireworks that blossom into the air and rain down on us, as if to pretend that the freedom we feel in that moment will last forever… But like this night that I lay in this truck bed watching those untouched stars and thinking toward the vastness of the unexplored universe that stands before me, I know that this freedom will end. Tomorrow I will wake up and forget the magic of the fireworks – of the stars and will go back to my normal routines, those draining routines that seem to keep our minds from recognizing the beauty that surrounds us throughout the day and night. So, on this night, I wrap this old quilt that smells like moth balls around me and watch each ball of untouched gas, imagining how high I would have to jump just to hold one in my hand.

Coming Out Of Despair

Water caressing my skin,

The cold beads drip down my spine.

I lay back,

Floating into the embrace,

The smell of salt,

Of untouched air.

There is unknown space here,

My feet cannot touch.

Water becomes sky,

Away from life,

Secluded from all.

I am secluded.

I am in the sky.

Little Delights

I delight in how your small foot pops my abdomen as I read my drafts or class-assigned books. Yesterday you pressed so hard that I could see the outline of your heel, I giggled. But this giggle was fearful in a way, as I imagined you clawing your way out of my ever-growing round belly in some sort of alien fashion. I feel you stretching and can picture you sighing inside me. What a colorless world you live in right now, do you know it is me you kick as I lay down each night attempting to rest every aching inch of my wearing body? I hold small shirts, dresses and booties, visualizing how beautiful you will be – wondering whose eyes or nose you may have. Do you wonder if you will look like me? Maybe you are wondering who I am, what I look like – smell like… Perhaps every time you kick me and I groan you wonder if that is all the world offers, groans – unknown words – the occasional laugh, and maybe even the soft heartbeat that soothes you to sleep. Maybe you do not realize that you will ever leave the warmth of my womb, instead you have decided that this is all life offers, that you will live out all your days in this comfort listening to these outside noises that seem so foreign to your newly developed ears. One day, you will be pushed through the comfort of your uterine home and will enter into a bright and unknown world, held and touched by so many faces that you have never seen and voices that you will not recognize at all. I hope you will recognize me. That you will hear my voice, softly groaning still in a feeling of pain and happiness. That you will hear this and look at me and know me somehow, in some strange way. A connection that cannot be described or brought through memory of the head but rather a memory of heart. My heart to your heart – connected.