Emma's family life has gotten off to a good, albeit interesting, start. With her father in Illinois and us in Michigan, the three of us are only together for a few days a week. However, they are good days and Meng has turned out (as I suspected) to be a natural at the daddy thing. He comes on Thursday or Friday and then takes off Sunday or Monday so he can attend meetings, do research, and all of those things that a responsible student should do.
I get sad when he leaves. That might be why I'm depressed.
In a future blog post, I plan to talk about my decision to pump instead of nurse. I am sticking to my decision 100%, but lately I've felt like a house appliance. I get up in the morning and spend a half hour pumping. Then I feed Emma, often for an hour. Then I eat and take a shower, and then I pump again. Usually by that time, Emma needs fed again. I've got a lot of people helping me, but I get jealous if someone else gets to feed her more often than I.
It's easy to feel inadequate or dehumanized. Maybe that's why I'm depressed.
Certain things just haven't been getting done. I have to keep reminding myself that I'm just over 3 weeks postpartum, and considering that fact, I'm doing quite well. Still, yesterday I cleaned my room for the first time since coming home from the hospital. I have at least 100 thank you's to write, I've promised myself I'd update the House Management notebook, help keep the house in order, knit a stuffed sheep and make a scrap book. So far, none of those things have happened.
I'm finding it difficult to find motivation. I find that depressing, but the truth is...
School started without me this semester. I thought I was ready, but every time I see someone post pictures of their apartment or dorm room, I get this little pang of resentment. I'm going to graduate a year behind most of my friends, and even when I start classes again, it's never going to be the same. I will never have that life that I had before. I'm saying goodbye to going out with a group at midnight just because, sitting behind a residence hall desk for hours with a friend, and sharing a too-small apartment with a group of girls. No more 2 a.m. study parties, or camping out in the library till they kick us out, or watching movie after movie until we all fall asleep. I have to act like a grown up now. I have to take responsibility for someone else. I can't just say, "I'll do it later," because there's an actual being at stake.
Someone now knows me as "Mommy," and she'll be my charge for the next 18 years. Spell it out. Eighteen years! That's daunting, and terrifying, and something that I really didn't want for at least another 5. But it's happened now. Don't get me wrong; I wouldn't trade Emma for anything, let alone the life I'm leaving behind. That doesn't mean it's any easier to say goodbye.
I just wasn't ready for this. I'm pretty sure that's why I'm depressed.