I Was Thankfully Overwhelmed

There is no doubt that I was overwhelmed when I had McKenna. This was so for a number of reasons: it was an unexpected pregnancy, we were married for just six months (do the math on that one…), I was the first of my closest friends to have a baby so no one was there to offer sound advice, and she was an unhappy, sick baby. My brain was preoccupied by everything relating to babies and being a mom. With Robbie, things are different. I’m enjoying his babyhood much more than I was able to enjoy it with McKenna, also for a number of reasons: he’s our second child, he was very planned (can’t be much more planned than in-vitro), we have been married now for seven years and have overcome our share of differences, I’m probably the last of my group of friends to have a baby so I have plenty of people to turn to when needed, and for the most part, he’s a healthy and happy baby (sans some digestive issues). Not overwhelmed at all.

So when I recently began a series of unfortunate events, I had to wonder if I am once again overwhelmed or if I’m just preoccupied. It was about a week ago when I began to notice a slow transformation of sorts. Nursing Robbie, for example, has brought out the exhibitionist in me. My boobs are exposed constantly, so much so that I forget to close up shop and I’ll walk in front of open windows with my newly engorged porn-star boobs clearly visible to any passersby. I say “boobs” instead of “breasts” simply as a way to put them into a schema that reflects how I feel about them. “Breast” implies fairly firm hand rubbing, flicking of nipples in between fingers and gentle tongue play that leads to stimulation down below. No, that’s definitely not the use for them lately. They’re “boobs”, objects that bring on an animalistic aggression in my son that can lead to blood if not guided correctly by the referee (that would be me). It’s anything but sensual. It’s more like the game Whack-a-mole, except he feverishly tries to attack the nipples before the milk drips down. I’ve become so carefree, in fact, that neighbors have come by and I just sit there, boob exposed, and we have a pleasant conversation. At least that’s my point of view. My neighbors may feel differently about that considering my porn-star boobs are not on a porn-star body.

There have been other small signs that have made me question whether I'm overwhelmed or if I’m preoccupied with mommyhood. I’ve put formula in my coffee instead of my non-dairy creamer. (Luckily, I realized it before I took my first sip, but a definite sign something is amiss.) I’ve had to turn around to go back home because I’ve forgotten to get out of my pajama bottoms and put on real clothes before I’ve left the house. I’ve burned my eggs because I have forgotten I was cooking (okay, that’s not so unusual for me). But I think the real moment of truth came last week when I was getting ready to go to the store.

I couldn’t wait to get out of the house. With Robbie cozy in one arm and a bottle of water tucked in the other, I locked up the house and headed toward my car. The magic doors to my Honda Odyssey popped open and I buckled up Robbie in his car seat. As I pressed the button to close the door and walked around to the driver’s side, I suddenly had a very Eckhart Tolle-living-in-the-now kind of moment. This is it. I am living the American dream. I have a beautiful son, an absolutely amazing daughter, a husband who is loving and caring to everyone, a roof over our heads, two cars, two jobs that are extremely secure, and enough money to buy the necessities that I was about to purchase. I was suddenly overwhelmed. As I’m living this moment, with the deepest feeling of peace running through me, I buckled myself in, turned on the car, and began to back out of the driveway. A jolt and crunching noise abruptly awakened me from what felt like a meditative state. Rob’s car was behind mine and I ran right into it.

Wow…how did I not see that? I jumped out to inspect the damage and except for some swapped paint chips, all was well. I had to laugh at my own idiocy, to the blindness of my own environment, especially since I had to walk in between the cars to put Robbie in. Yes, it was unusual that Rob’s car was parked directly behind mine considering we have a double-wide driveway. But how on earth was I going to explain this one?

When he and McKenna got home from camp, I suddenly felt like I couldn’t admit to another adult my absentmindedness, my carelessness, my recklessness. I didn’t even have time to process the event in my own mind for Robbie began crying immediately after impact. Counting on the presence of McKenna, I turned innocently to my six-year old with my husband watching. “McKenna, I have to tell something to Daddy and I don’t know how he’ll react,” begging her to ask the inevitable “What do you have to tell him?” Being the inquisitive child she is, she did just that. “Well, mommy was backing up her car today and I forgot Daddy parked his car behind mine.” The look on Rob’s face was one of sheer shock as he yelled, “NO, YOU DIDN’T!” I looked at him with a smile and remorseful eyes. Panicked, he ran outside to inspect the damage. McKenna, flustered at his reaction, needed an explanation. “I ran into Daddy’s car today,” I explained. She covered her mouth and giggled. Even she finds it crazy. Rob suddenly came back inside stating, “I need a beer before I do this,” and he ran into the kitchen. “Get one for me, please,” I called out. When he returned with the beers, we all headed outside.

Rob knelt down in front of his car and began to touch the front bumper in a way that made me long for my boobs to be breasts. He looked carefully back and forth between the front of his car and the back of my minivan. He stood up, looked at me with furrowed brows and a lighthearted shaking of the head that said, “Who are you and why did I marry you?” It suddenly occurred to me that cuteness always works. “Look at it this way. It’s like a Reese’s peanut butter cup. I got my peanut butter on your chocolate and you got some chocolate on my peanut butter!” I paused with a smile, hoping he’ll find me quirky enough to see this latest faux pas as an adventure rather than a problem. He simply shook his head, smiled a bit, took a sip of his beer and gave me a kiss.
All was well.

I don’t know if Rob thinks I’m losing my mind or if I’m preoccupied with being a new mom again. But the truth is, at least in the case of the Reese’s peanut butter cup, it was neither. I wasn’t preoccupied. I was pleasantly, joyfully and thankfully overwhelmed with all that I have.