Wow. I barely remember our first week home, with the exception of a conversation with T that went something like- sorry, kid, I didn’t mean to ruin your life and mine by bringing you here…I thought it was the right move.
We were all jet lagged and immediately came down with some terrible sickness. Just short of a week after touch down, Scott went back into the studio to finish the next Weezer album, so I found myself a full-time mom with the flu. At one point, T was screaming and I was crying and holding him and trying to look up how to take his temperature. I felt like such a cliche- the haggard mom with throw-up in her hair shooting resentful looks at Dad when he walks in the door from work.
When we all started to relax and get more sleep, things like folding the stroller seemed less insurmountable and we were able to spend some fun time hanging out and getting to know each other. It’s a unique thing- to be a new mother to an eleven-month-old. I found myself feeling pressure to be as acclimated to motherhood as the rest of the moms around me with kids of a similar age to T. I didn’t always feel like explaining to people that on the one hand this gorgeous little boy was my son and on the other hand I had just met him two weeks before. If spiritual practice dictates that you be as present in the moment as possible, then the first two weeks of motherhood were the most spiritual of my life. I was in absolute survival mode and doing simply what was in front of me. It was when it got a bit easier that my mind was racing with a thousand other anxieties again.
One thing I learned about T almost immediately- he wants music and music and more music. He came to the right joint.
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Originally published on The Seattle Lesbian
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