When I first became a mother, I had a glorious maternity leave. I knew it was glorious, because I had the knowledge of what factors needed to be in play in order for it to be as glorious as humanly possible.
They were as follows:
a) A baby who chilled out when held, when in a swing or other baby-holding apparatus, or any combo therein. (<—Out of anyone’s control.)
b) A freezer full of food. (<—Slightly more in your control.)
c) Telling myself that, if absolutely nothing else, to try to nap every single day. (<—Entirely in my control.)
It helped that, by that point, I’d spent a good amount of time with newborn and tiny persons, and knew beyond a doubt that- at least for these miraculous, wonderful weeks- absolutely no one needed absolutely anything from me, save for the newborn in my arms and the couch pillow under my head. My husband needed the occasional high five, but he kinda became like a camel or sand gazelle, and saved up physical touch for those lean times.
I’ve always been exceptionally good at nesting/slothing, but this phase of my life really brought it into overdrive. (When people tell me that they “can’t nap,” I pretty much want to shake them. What, you’re incapable of laying down for ten minutes and pleasantly drifting off into a land of no stress/dishes? Congratulations on your self-deprivation, you puritanical tired person.)
This nest/sloth tendency followed me into Two-Kid motherhood (and subsequent stay-at-home-ness, which, I fully admit, is a large prerequisite to daytime napping). And even though everyone warned me about two kids being a Game Changer and I heard all of the Enjoy It Now platitudes…I still cocooned with my tiny kiddos.
It helped that I had a toddler who loved to hold my hand as she napped in my bed. It helped that our monkey baby Susannah had yet to climb the fridge. And it helped that I was pretty much only blogging once a week and kinda-sorta submitting to publications when it felt “fun.” (And yes, this was when multiple parts of our home were breaking off and sliding into the metaphorical ocean/very real cesspool under the house. That’s how great this phase of my life was with my babies: even when entire rooms were filled with sewage, I was still all “Isn’t this so nice to be home with them?!”)
If I’m honest- if I’m truly, unabashedly honest- sometimes I miss those Cocoon Days.
Sometimes I miss those Cocoon Days every single day.
I miss that brief window of time where I put one baby down to nap and snuggled up in bed with the other (mercifully still napping) kid and, well, napped. For a tiny bit there, I napped every single afternoon. Guilt-free. We’d wake up at some hour in the late afternoon (are you still reading, or have you scrolled away in disgust?), and work on some quiet project in the kitchen. Or we’d watch a quiet show. I’d always have dinner ready. The house was generally organized- as long as you considered having baby aparati everywhere “generally organized,” and pretty much disregarded the rest of the house sectioned off with plastic sheeting.
We had nowhere to be, not really. We weren’t yet at the mercy of school schedules or daily routines. On the best of days, it was like playing house.
And I’m probably not doing justice to the fact that, on the worst of days, I felt crippled by housework and 2am fevers and the day-to-day loneliness that comes when you’ve yet to find your tribe. I knew I needed to get writing again. I knew I’d start applying for jobs again. I knew- knew– that this was oh-so fleeting, and that gave me the permission to revel, to roll around in it like a bed where you’ve already napped twice that day.
That cocoon has busted open, kind of like that end scene in Charlotte’s Web where all of Charlotte’s babies flew away on strands in the wind. (Which, totally, was an itch-inducing scene but incredibly evocative, was it not?)
‘Cause we got stuff to do.
I’m not saying that having three kids burst that bubble. I’m not saying that more work burst that bubble. And I’m not even saying that full day kindergarten burst that bubble. But maybe- just maybe- a combination of all three (and then some) popped those days like a cork.
You know how they say you can never go home again? Well, you can never go back to the stillness of that initial maternity leave, either. Sure, you can recreate it with blanket tents, iPhones switched off, and a stolen hour or two on a Thursday…but it’s not really the same, is it? Eventually you have to pick up a kid, return that email, exist in the world.
And of course you do. Society would dissolve without participants.
Right now, it’s time for me to participate.
Sigh.
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