claustrophobia

My mother has been here since last Sunday evening. In the aftermath of my ordeal, as I nursed a sore abdomen and ever-so-slowly regained my sea legs in the hospital, I took my mom up on her offer to come and assist me for a bit upon arriving home. I had originally planned to spend the majority of my immediate postpartum days at home alone. I had envisioned long, slow days, just me and the babe in bed, nursing and napping, skin on skin. I imagined wearing him close to me as we wandered around the neighborhood together and explored our new world. But after enduring major surgery, I wasn't certain my recovery would be swift and the thought of having someone to help around the house seemed suddenly more appealing.

And it is true: while she has been most helpful and I appreciate her presence in many respects, I cannot help but feel a little emotionally claustrophobic. I am not the sort to cry freely in front of others (who is?) -- it embarrasses me and I hate the thought of being pitied. Emotional displays embarrass others and forces them to hide their discomfort behind pithy words of sympathy that they often do not mean. It is just not something I care to endure. And so I find I am stuffing my emotions and willing them away at precisely this moment when I should be wallowing in them and giving them free reign.

Thankfully, I think my mother understands this about me. She is scheduled to leave on Tuesday. I will miss her willing hands -she has rocked X to sleep more than once while I desperately tried to catch some extra sleep or a quick shower. But I am also anxious to try my hand at this mothering thing on my own, to settle into routines with my baby boy, to loll around in bed just gazing and getting to know one another, to cry uncontrollably if that is what the moment demands.