I went back to work on the 7th. It was great, I was really, really happy to be back and not changing diapers, calming tantrums, or constantly breastfeeding. It was great to be valued for my thinking capabilities and not how much milk I had produced that day or how many goldfish crackers I had doled out. Still, it was a little overwhelming. The house hasn’t been the same since Garrison arrived, I like it somewhat clean and that has hardly been achieved with the constant flow of houseguests in between getting used to a colicky baby.
So, when I work, I kept thinking about how great it would be to have the house clean. One may say that I obsessed over it a bit – probably unhealthily. I trudged through the day, visiting with my fellow office-workers and wrestling with our help desk trying to get my email reconnected. Greg, who works in the same building as I do, signaled when it was time to go home; helped me pick up the kids, and off we went.
By the time we arrived at home, Garrison was crying again. Gwen was grumpy and so dinner and bathtime was a long and arduous procedure. The kids, supposed to be in bed by 7, had started to settle down by 8…a solid two-hour effort on our part. I wearily walked down the stairs, exhausted, and surveyed the toys strewn across the floor, the unfolded laundry lying in heaps on the couch, the dishes to be washed and dishwasher to be emptied…and I hit my wall.
I walked straight through the room and went down into the basement where I flopped down onto the guest bed and felt what little energy I had left leave my body. After a few minutes I thought about lifting my arms just to make sure they still worked…but decided that would require a little more effort than I had at the moment. So I just laid there and listened to the silence.
Pretty soon, I could hear Greg wandering around on our main level. I could practically hear his mind trying to figure out where I had disappeared to. I wasn’t doing dishes, wasn’t doing laundry, wasn’t picking up the room and I wasn’t upstairs with the kids…where did Christa go???
His steps meandered over towards the basement door and he thumped down the stairs. Upon seeing my prone body spread-eagled on the bed, he asked ‘You OK?’.
I gathered the energy to use my voice, ‘Yeah, just resting a minute.’
‘You want to be left alone?’
‘Yes please, that would be great.’
His brows furrowed, ‘OK.’
But he didn’t leave. He hesitated, then went over to his office and started rummaging through papers, then looked at me, then walked around the room, then went back to meaningless rummaging. He sat on the bed and patted my hand.
I didn’t respond. I didn’t really have the energy to. I think I really wanted to cry – but didn’t even have the energy to do that.
‘Tough day at work?’ he asked.
‘No’ And it wasn’t. It was an easy day at work. Everything was just piling up on me and I wasn’t sure how I was going to do it all.
‘You sad?’ then he helpfully offered ‘should we get you on some meds?’
‘No.’ And I didn’t need meds. I hadn’t had a lick of postpartum, but figured everyone needed at least a few days when they could be completely overwhelmed without having Zoloft crammed down their throats.
‘What then?’
Ugh, I groaned and sat up. And I explained it. How everything was piling up, how I wasn’t sure how I was going to do 11 credits of school this semester, how I wished Garrison would stop crying and just be happy, that I wasn’t sure how I could give both kids equal attention with Garrison being so needy, that I had some travel coming up and I didn’t want to leave, that I couldn’t keep up on the house, and cooking and keep us on a schedule, how I was utterly, and completely….overwhelmed. Tears rolled silently down my check and I slumped forward on the bed, head buried in the comforter. I was the picture of self pity.
Greg was silent for a minute, rubbing my back in deep thought. I was sort of hoping that this little display would finally convince him to pony up and get a housekeeper. I thought that was what he was rolling around in the back of his mind. I was wrong.
My husband can be one of the most tactless people alive. After years of marriage to him I can only conclude that when faced with a situation where he needs to say something meaningful and touching, his brain completely shorts out, and goes into opposite mode; where the most insane thoughts make perfect sense. This was one of those moments.
I know what Greg meant to say. What he meant to say was that I had been doing too much and that I needed to lower my expectations of everyone else and myself. However, that is not what he said. His brain, taking over and apparently attempting to kill him, decided this was the best way to phrase that sentiment:
‘Well,’ he said thoughtfully still rubbing my back, ‘This is good for you. Good for your ego. Take you down a notch or two.’
The comment hung in the air, a pregnant pause, and Greg started to realize his error. No doubt he also started rapidly calculating ways to turn what he said around, into something a little more thoughtful at the moment.
Other women probably would have burst into hysterical tears. However, for whatever reason (and this is probably why we’ve stayed married as long as we have) the sheer ridiculousness of his comments really make me laugh. I started to chuckle. I will confess it was a bit hysterical to begin with, but that evened out and I was able to muster up the energy to solidly hit him on the arm and proclaim he was a world-class jerk.
Greg looked relieved. I heaved myself off the bed and stood up. Greg stood up next to me and took my hand. ‘Let’s go clean the kitchen together and then we’ll go to bed.’ It wasn’t terribly romantic, but that’s not the life I signed up for. I sighed and nodded. It was the thing to do. So we did. And with the kitchen clean and the rest of the house a complete wreck, we fell asleep for a few quick hours of much needed rest before Garrison woke us up to start the whole exhausting routine of newborn sleeplessness all over again.
Romantic gestures are wonderful. But when the stuff is hitting the fan and the ship is sinking…I’ll take a solid partner over candlelight dinners any day of the week. Someday, those romantic days will be back. Until then we have laundry to fold and diapers to change.
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