The Question

It’s not a bad question, really. My friend N asked it innocently, and she genuinely wanted to know. “What do you do all day?” N was a colleague at the full-time job I left when F was born. N was used to seeing me in the office, answering phone calls, meeting with clients, running meetings, and in the last weeks of my pregnancy, running to the bathroom. Now that I wasn’t working, what was I doing? Yes, I was taking care of a new baby, but really, what was I doing?

I thought about it for a minute or two, and ended up giving her some vague answer about nursing, cleaning, and trying to rest during the day to make up for the punctuated sleep I was getting at night. To be honest, I don’t really remember what I said, just as in that moment I couldn’t remember how I passed the hours each day, or perhaps more accurately, how they passed me. I want to remember, though, not just for me, but for F. I don’t remember much of my life – I couldn’t tell you how I spent my high school years, I have only fleeting memories of college, and the same is true for the ten years since graduating. (Oh how I didn’t want to type those words – *ten years*. Ten is… so many.) But I want to remember these first few months with F.

So, how do I spend my days? When F was new, and my mother was here, my time was divided in a rather binary way. I was either nursing or I was not. If I was not nursing, my mother or I held F. If I was on baby patrol, as we call it, then I watched tv, or listened to the radio while I held her. I had not yet mastered the art of knitting, reading, or working on the computer while feeding or holding a baby, and she had not yet mastered the art of not being held. When Mom took F, I would clean the house, take a shower, fold laundry, or, on rare occasions, nap. Mostly, I remember folding laundry. I don’t know why there so much laundry, because we only changed F’s clothes every other day or so (she wasn’t spitting up much, or making those explosive poops that we see far too often these days), but I remember piles and piles of laundry.

But mostly, I nursed. Even now, F eats for about 40 minutes at a time, every two hours. For those of you not well versed in the intricacies of tracking a baby’s eating habits, you time it from the start of one feeding to the start of the next feeding. Thus, my daytime hours with F are spent feeding for 40 minutes, not feeding for about an hour and a half, and then feeding again. In those 90 minutes, I may try to run an errand, but only if I can get back home by the time my digital watch hits the 2 hour mark – I don’t generally like nursing in public or in my car. This has nothing to do with modesty; I just haven’t found too many places where I want to sit for almost an hour with my shirt up and a baby in my lap. I also try to clean the house, pay bills, cook a little bit, check my e-mail, or waste time on Facebook.

Well, that isn’t entirely accurate. I do do all those things, but in 10-20 minute segments, which is about how long F is content to sit in one place – her swing, the Bumbo, her pack n play, whatever device I can cage or strap her into so I can get a few things done. As I write those words, I am struck by how true they are, and how much I don’t want them to be an accurate description of my time. Yes, there are many moments through the day when my attention is totally, undividedly focused on F. I hold her in my lap and make faces at her. We sit on the futon in her room and read little cardboard books. Sometimes, the best times, are when she is lying in my arms, tired but not fussy, and we just stare at each other. Maybe it’s hormones, maybe it’s nature at work, bonding me to my baby so I will nurture and protect her so she can grow up to pass along my genes just as I have passed them to her.

Yet it often feels like those moments of connection and focus are few and far between. As I search my memory of the past four months, I have many lovely, sweet images of holding this baby in my arms. But I also remember a feeling… a feeling of pressure, a need to get things done. Just like everyone else I know, there is always an endless slew of things (such a bland, nondescriptive word, yet an appropriate one) waiting for my attention – the endless cycle of dirty and clean (dishes, laundry, baby, me), paperwork, bills, errands, minor repairs, phone calls, all to be done in the 10 minute stretches in the 90 minute blocks between feedings when F is calm in her swing or crib and I can rush through my mental list, strategizing so I can get as much done as possible before she starts fussing or wakes up.

This is not how I want to feel during the day, nor is it how I want to spend my time. It was this pressured feeling (among other things) that led me to take a leave of absence from the doctoral program I was in. I want to truly enjoy my time with F, without feeling pulled by my endless to-do list. At least, I think I do. But the truth is, sometimes it’s boring.

There. I said it. Sometimes being a mother is just a bit boring. How many times can I read that same cardboard book, or play peek-a-boo, or sing a song about dirty diapers because it keeps F quiet long enough so I can change the aforementioned dirty diaper before she nurses for the seventh time that day? (The answer is, a lot more times than you would imagine, but still not enough to keep me from getting bored.) The truth is, my job was boring at times, as were my classes, but it was ok to talk about that. No one is surprised or judgmental when you complain about boredom at work, about wanting to go home and relax on the couch with a beer and a book (or in my case, hot chocolate and knitting). But I don’t feel like I have the same luxury when it comes to talking about my boredom – how can I be bored? I can (theoretically) do whatever I want during the day – I could go shopping, or head out for a walk, or work on a knitting project, read a book – all in 10 minute segments, in 90 minute blocks between feedings, mind you – but I can do them, nonetheless. So how could I complain about being bored?

Well, I guess right now I’m not complaining, although I might get there. Right now I’m just observing. And processing. And figuring it out. F has only been in my life for four months, and we’re still getting used to each other. Speaking of figuring things out, I’m still not sure if I am have answered N’s question about what I do all day, but it’s a start. Oh, and if you’re wondering how I found time to write this post – I did it while feeding a baby. Those are my 40 minute blocks when I don’t feel pressure to get things done… except work on a blog, or knitting, or whatever else I can do while sitting down with a baby in my lap.