YO MAMA: I’ve come undone
OPINION
“It’s going to be a big day for us,” I whispered to the tiny, sleeping human glued to my chest. It was very feline, the way he curled up on me, all warm and milky smelling. I loved it. But we had to get off the couch.
We were going out, for the very first time since he’d been born two weeks earlier. So far, our midwife had come to us for our day three and day five wellness check-ups. That beautiful grace period was over now and I needed to get the two of us to the clinic for our next appointment.
I looked down at Bug — his nickname since birth — and saw that his dark, reptilian eyes had silently, slyly opened. It was go time.
“We got this, right little man?” I said.
Bug stared blankly in response. I was getting used to these one-sided conversations, having instinctively adopted that habit moms have of narrating everything to their babies in the hopes that it will jumpstart their language acquisition.
The appointment was at 10 a.m. Plenty of time, or so I thought.
By 8:30 a.m., Bug was holding me hostage with another cat-nap on the couch. This was unscheduled. He’d gotten himself good and milk-drunk after a feed and conked out unexpectedly. I knew he’d wake up screaming if I tried to move him to his bassinet. I figured I could let him sleep a while longer and still make our appointment on time, but we’d be pushing it. I used the time to double check the appointment time and remind myself of the directions to the clinic. As I scrolled through a photo series of dogs under water — wait, how did I get here? — I realized in horror that my cell phone battery was almost dead. Crap. I couldn’t reach the charger or get up to retrieve it while Bug was sleeping. I could only hope that switching to low battery mode would buy me enough time.
While Bug dozed, I became increasingly stressed out. I barely had the diaper bag packed. How would I ever make it on time? I might as well drape a blanket over the sleeping baby and start walking to the clinic — I might get there faster.
I loathe being late for appointments. I’m one of those people who would rather arrive excessively early and walk around the block to kill time. In the two weeks since Bug had been born, I had adjusted to a lot of change — no more yoga whenever I felt like it, no more long showers, no more time to waste baking red velvet cupcakes just because. But gosh darnit, I was not going to be late for an appointment.
Bug peered up at me with one sneaky, open eye. It was go time: round two. I rolled up my pajama sleeves and set to work.
In my haste to prepare the diaper bag, I loaded up practically every onesie and burp cloth we owned, along with a pacifier he didn’t use, a teddy bear and a rectal thermometer… because it’s not like I was going to a medical clinic where they could check his temperature if needed. The bulging bag was fit for a trip across the country, not a 20 minute drive. Why is it that the less time you have, the more you seem to pack?
In those precious two weeks of home-hibernation, I had apparently forgotten how to dress myself. Opening my closet felt daunting and strange, like stepping into someone else’s life. I glared at a sweater as if it had betrayed me. I hated everything. Why did I even own that stupid turtleneck? Eventually, I dug out some black leggings and a long black, button up blouse that I’d worn to a funeral.
By 9:30 a.m. we were at the door. Bug was fed, changed and clothed. I had just buckled him into the carseat — second guessing the tightness of the straps about a million times — when I realized I needed to pee. This is something that happens when you are suddenly responsible for another human being’s bodily functions: you forget to take care of your own. I hauled the carseat back up the stairs to the bathroom, relieved myself, and headed back down. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something. Oh yeah… the all important diaper bag. It was back at the top of the stairs, strategically placed where I thought I couldn’t miss it. Back up we went, precious minutes slipping by. My brain was jello. Should I even be driving?
Back down the stairs — 9:37 a.m. — and there was the dog, blocking the door. She stared me down with her piercing blue eyes.
Of course. I’d forgotten to feed her.
Guilt hit me like a slap in the face. Get it together, I thought.
I filled her bowl and heaped some apologies on top. The kibbles clattered noisily when they hit the bowl, which scared Bug and sent him screaming like a banshee.
Time to get the heck out of here.
For the first 10 minutes it sounded like I had an injured ostrich in the back of the car, squawking and screeching until suddenly, there was no sound at all. I glanced in the mirror. Eyes closed, total stillness. Asleep.
I only pulled over once to check that he wasn’t dead.
We pulled into the parking lot at 10:03 a.m. Almost on time. Lateness within five minutes can really be attributed to discrepancies in clock settings, right?
The routine check-up went wonderfully. Bug was a rockstar and I was ridiculously proud of all his perfect parts and healthy measurements.
But the best part was when the midwife complimented my hair.
I had brushed it.
I felt like a million bucks as we wrapped up the appointment and I headed out the door. We’d made it — mostly on time — and our clean bill of health made me feel like I was walking out of an exam having nailed the test.
On my way to the car, I smiled and waved at an elderly couple out for a walk. They looked a little puzzled at my exuberance. Why shouldn’t I show off my joy, I thought, admiring my beautiful little baby.
I got in behind the wheel and looked down at the seat where I’d left the keys while putting Bug into the carseat.
As I gazed down, I saw that my blouse was wide open where I’d unbuttoned it to breastfeed during the appointment.
That’s why the older couple had looked at me so weirdly.
I’d come undone.
— Charlotte Helston gave birth to her first child, a rambunctious little boy, in the spring of 2021. Yo Mama is her weekly reflection on the wild, exhilarating, beautiful, messy, awe-inspiring journey of parenthood.
