22 Feb

Who searches for just melancholy? Are you sad? Are you lonely? Are you doing a project for English, and this is the quickest way to rip someone’s poetry off?

Or are you dreaming of “before” in a way that makes you misty and sleepy?

This morning I sat in the bathroom, reading the Wal-Mart flyer. (This is the only place I can read any of the paper in peace at this point). The front page proclaimed “BABY DAYS!”, and showed all the accoutrement’s of infancy. Diapers for new babies, car seats for tiny tots, freshly pulled from the womb, tiny onesies that trigger some weird hormonal rush.

All these things, they rush me back. They rush me back to that time when the world was open to everything, when the days ran into each-other as you stared at your tiny baby mewing her way through the world. Time helps me forget the boredom that accompanied the first few months after Vivian was born, but not how terrified I was to take her outside, to take her anywhere by myself. I feared I’d screw it up, she’d cry, and someone might take her away because I was unfit. My anxiety rose just to walk to the store, but I’d strap on the sling, and make my way regardless. People thought she was darling, wrapped up like a sausage against my wobbly bread tummy.

The first few months of her life was like remembering what the sunlight was, or at least that’s how I remember it. Rationally I know that it wasn’t this easy for me, that it took time for me to adjust to this creature clinging to me, to having to bounce her in a chair for hours while she slept, dragging it with me to the bathroom. The adjustment from me alone to me with child was not easy, and not a battle won without effort and fear.

But how I am melancholy for those first days sometimes. How I wish I could bottle that newness so I could drink of it again. The discovery-finding myself, finding my daughter, my love for her, my love for her father-the stark difference of our lives was incredible, exhilarating and terrifying, but ultimately worth it. But I wish I had been able to slow down, worry less, and enjoy the slow metamorphosis of our selves.

4 Responses to ““melancholy””

  1. bromac February 22, 2007 at 12:29 pm #

    I remember those days well. At random points, it would seem as if time had stopped. The only thing moving at all in the world was my heart swelling with the insurmountable love I felt for that little being.

    To bottle it, and revisit it when you’re meloncholy, would be the best medicine anyone can offer.

    I haven’t been able to master that task.

  2. misspudding February 23, 2007 at 12:19 am #

    I love that word: acoutrement!

    (Sorry I can’t think of anything to say on topic.)

  3. Abby February 23, 2007 at 9:44 am #

    That was beautiful. There is something in those first days with our first born isn’t there? Something you can’t always put a finger on. But you did in this post.

  4. thordora February 24, 2007 at 9:41 pm #

    I constantly feel that I can’t adequately express how much I miss that newness, how I wish I could have paused for a moment and enjoyed it more, how I should have realized it for what it really was-fleeting and oh so sweet.

    I miss that I never took the time.

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