Scatterbrained Musings of an Exhausted Mother

Nothing like a nice photo filter to smooth out those under-eye circles. Also, when did it become fall? I thought it was August?

I’ve been reading Michelle Obama’s memoir, “Becoming,” in between wiping up splashed breastmilk and chugging was-once-hot-but-that-was-hours-ago coffee. It’s been making me think a lot about what it means to be a mother who wants her career to be just as important, and seeking that mythical balance.

These first months of having a new baby are difficult for so many reasons, but one of the worst effects, for me anyway, is that I never seem to be able to complete a task, or even a thought about one. Interruptions are constant and inevitable, and definitely not predictable. Will I have 5 minutes? 15? A whole hour? You never know. And because of this Not Knowing how much time I have - to eat breakfast, clean the bathroom, read a page, write a blog post, TAKE AN ACTUAL NAP - I end up doing nothing at all. Sometimes I don’t even allow myself to START anything Instead, I putter around, accomplishing nothing, like one of those wind-up toys that’s gotten stuck walking into a wall and can do nothing but wait it out.

(How am I even writing this, right now?)

I’ve forgotten what I was thinking about…

Oh yeah, Michelle Obama. (I should perhaps mention that I haven’t slept more than 3 hours in a row in 2 months, and I kicked it all off with a more than 24-hour-stretch of being awake, leading up to Léo’s birth. I AM FEELING GREAT.)

So, that woman is incredible (I know we already knew that). The way she articulates all of the compromising (and refusal to compromise, in some cases) that comes with being the wife of someone who is absent a lot because of their dream/purpose, is really speaking to me. Not that I’m married to a man with lofty political aspirations, but Mat being in school full-time has definitely created a need for me to compromise a lot these last few years and I just haven’t been able to express my thoughts and feelings about it in any coherent way that doesn’t sound like complaining. And so, reading Michelle Obama’s wise words is really inspiring. She’s able to talk about it without bashing Barack, which is exactly what I would like to be able to do, also. It’s not resentment toward Mat that I feel, but there is a tension, within me, about the situation itself - a situation that is not all bad all the time, but is difficult in ways that are unique to me probably, the spouse who is “following.”

The way she talks about motherhood is equally satisfying and I find myself writing down little phrases and sentences because it just so perfectly illustrates whatever the thought or feeling is. It’s really refreshing to see your packed-up feelings articulated so well. It’s almost like they’re being, well, unpacked. For you.

I don’t really have a greater point here, I’m just babbling. It feels good to babble.

So what do I do with my fits and starts of time? Well, I doom-scroll Instagram, of course! Check it out, it’s an actual thing, doom scrolling.

Also, I’ve fallen into a corner of the platform where Moms Like Me hang out and share photos of their dressed-up babies and I am both loving and hating it. I’ve always enjoyed sharing pictures of the boys (what mom doesn’t?). With Benji I think I look a bout 100,001 photos of him in just his first year - so like, what else are you doing to do if not share some? And I have been SO influenced by these “Insta Moms” that the only colors I seem to see these days are muted autumnal shades of orange, coral and brown. (Some sage-y green thrown in for good measure). I’m particularly susceptible, I think, because even before having kids I was wholly averse to the patterns and color schemes of “baby stuff”. I realize that “cute” is subjective, but I’ve just never understood the logic of the pastels and precious-baby-motifs. I mean, babies don’t care what they have on their backs, they can’t even see past their noses. So why aren’t baby clothes just NORMAL???

Well, Instagram (and the marketing world at large) seems to have agreed with me, for better or worse. There is actually a whole universe of neutral, nice-to-the-adult-eye infant “fashion.” And I am LAPPING it up, I tell you.