Overwhelmed

A few nights ago, I had one of those nightmares that makes you wake up in a cold sweat and feel unsettled all day long. You know, like the ones you'd have right before finals in college in which you were registered for a class (in my case, it was always a math class) and didn't know about it until two days before the final, and you had to get a perfect score on that final in order to pass the class. Only, in this case, the ramifications if the dream came true were much more dire than a failed math class. I dreamed that when I went for my two month postpartum checkup and the doctor told me I was six weeks pregnant with quadruplets. I just kept looking at the ultrasound screen that had previously brought me so much joy, and thinking that there was no way I could have four more babies on top of the four I already have. What would I drive?

Thankfully, I'm not pregnant with quadruplets, which is a very good thing because I'll admit that I'm feeling overwhelmed these days. Until Maren arrived, I think most people would agree that one of my strongest personality traits is my competence (you know, just like Constance in Michael McLean's The Forgotten Carols). I'm the one who balanced getting straight As in 18 credits while working 20 hours a week in college. I'm the one who worked 60 hours a week and went to grad school, handing in my last paper for my MA on the way to the hospital to deliver Bryce. I'm the one who thrived off of teaching part-time when Bryce and Annie were little. I'm the one who singlehandedly prepared a dinner for 60 members of our Relief Society when Isaac was just three weeks old. And now I'm the one who has been totally thrown for a loop with the arrival of kid #4.

Maren is an absolutely beautiful baby (that 2 month-old picture I posted a few days ago really doesn't do her justice) but she's a handful. Yesterday I spent pretty much all day bouncing her. In a lot of ways, she reminds me of Bryce, who needed to have a faucet running in order to calm down and nurse for at least the first four months of his life. Annie is also one of those spirited children. Isaac spoiled me. He was such an easy baby that I felt ready for another one quickly, preferably another one like Isaac. I love my spitfire children, but at the end of the day when Eddie comes home and the house is a disaster and all I've done is pace and rock and break up fights all day long, I feel my badge of competence tarnishing.

We've had a cleaning service come in every other week for the last few months, and I'm frightened about what our house is going to look like when they stop coming. I'm lucky to get the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher by dinnertime-- I have no idea how I'll be scrubbing floors and cleaning toilets while rocking my baby, unless Maren wants to spend some serious upside-down time in the baby bjorn. She's just not a bouncy seat kind of kid (although she is upstairs in the bouncy seat now, blissfully sleeping off her very awake night).

I guess I should be sort of glad. I really expected to go through a serious mourning after Maren was born. I'm sad that she's the last one. Sad that I'll never bring a new baby home from the hospital. Sad that she's getting big quickly. But ending my childbearing with a baby who keeps me on my toes has also made it easier for me to close that door. I saw a pregnant woman jogging with her toddler today, and was suprised that I didn't feel a small pang of envy. I think that my quiver is full, and I'm happy with it this way. Quadruplets? Don't even go there. 

--originally published 2/28/07