That's What She Said: In-Sensitive
- Dawn Dumont | June 23, 2015
John Lagimodiere asked me if I was going to be a softer person after I became a mom. I said: nope, I’ll be as cynical as ever. After the birth of my child, reveling in the pain of my perceived enemies (people who butt in front of me at Starbucks and ISIS) will still be my favourite pastime.
I consider myself a tough-ass. Exhibit A: I’ve gone years without crying, specifically 2006 to 2008 (coincidentally, I was single that entire time.) Being a non-crier, I find emotional displays curious and laughable. I had a guy refuse to go on a second date with me because I laughed at him when he cried at the movie. (I still laugh when I think of his big, crybaby tears.)
I swore to myself that motherhood would not make me soft. I would not go “gentle” into that dark night; I’d rage against the dying of my cold heartedness.
At least that’s what I thought would happen.
During one of my prenatal appointments, my doctor had mentioned the “baby blues.” In her soft Russian accent, she explained that after delivery, hormones make you weepy like you’re watching Anna Karenina on repeat.
This I dismissed. As someone who considers PMS to be an old wives tale – if I yell at someone during a certain time of the month – it’s because they deserve it, not because I’m a slave to my hormones. And if they deserve it around the same time every month…well, that’s just a coincidence.
The first bout of baby blues appeared as we were on our way home from the hospital. I was folding the baby’s clothes. I’d brought about six outfits, for some reason I’d been anticipating a post-birth baby fashion show. (Instead my baby prefers to be naked.) I came across a jumper with a rabbit tail. It was the first piece of clothing that I’d bought for him when I found out I was pregnant, and burst into tears. Because I realized that I was now a mother to a little person who for some reason already liked me a lot. But what if I let him down?
I tried to hide my tears because I knew that if the nurses saw me crying then we’d have to go through the depression questions.
Because post-partum depression is a terrible illness and also because Brooke Shields had it, as a pregnant lady or a new mom you get asked a lot of questions like, “Have you lost interest in life? Do you take pleasure in activities? Does anything excite you? Etc.” I don’t mind the questions but its difficult to explain to my doctor that at my age the only thing that excites me are new episodes of Orange is the New Black, a nap or discovering that a frenemy got fat.
But I wanted to go home, so I avoided the nurses’ gaze as I secret-bawled down the hallway.
The crying continued through the first week. Here is a list of things that I cried over:
- Because his head is so perfectly round, like how my head was perfectly round when I was born.
- Because he got diaper rash.
- Because I went to Walmart without him and missed his round little head and red little butt.
My sister, and a mom of two, explained that the tears were coming because I now saw the bigger picture, the way that life extends so far into the future. Or in other words, that I am committed for life. Before my baby, my longest-term commitment was with a cellphone company (and I reneged on that and have to answer my cellphone as one of my sisters.)
By this point, my boyfriend had resigned himself to coming home and finding me full of snot as I tearfully explained that the baby had sort of smiled at me and that reminded me that he would grow up. And that I don’t want that, because he’s my newborn! But I do want him to grow up because he’s so fragile and WHY WON’T HIS DIAPER RASH GO AWAY!
Around this point, my boyfriend told me to get out of the house. As I stared at normal people, with their sunglasses, crop tops, and beards, I wondered what was it like to be oblivious? What was it like when your biggest worry is a pimple, a couple of extra pounds or a suspicious pelvic rash? What was it like not to understand how scary life really is when you’re responsible for someone who can’t even tell you what hurts?
As my hormones change, the baby blues are waning and I certainly won’t miss them. But maybe I’ll miss feeling things so deeply, like a weepy wimp watching The Notebook.