dear friend,
the days are long, but the months are so short. I find myself forgetting words, where I put my phone, or when I last took a shower. my most quoted lines from Twilight’s New Moon is “my mind is a but a sieve”. Stephenie Meyer could be quoting that from somewhere else but in the book, Bella is lamenting how she’d already forgotten details about Edward since he left. and like Bella, my mind is also a sieve. sometimes I question the coarser bits it catches and how much of life is lost in the finer, nuanced things.
Kai is officially 8 weeks old. can you believe it? I can’t. so here are some things I’d like to commit to memory from those first weeks:
the time he was so small, he didn’t even fit size 50/newborn
the way my placenta looked like the tree of life (like, wow, I grew that!)
the tiramisu was the best dessert at BB
his frenzied face when he’s about to latch on my nipple
the newborn scrunch
the soft spot on his head
it feels like he was only born yesterday. and myself? well, I thought I’d be much better at this whole parenting thing by now. I’m far from it. I remain clueless to the root cause of his cries, I still have no idea how to dress him for the weather, I have yet to find a ‘cure’ to his dry skin, and I cannot seem to figure out how to breastfeed and have a ‘stash’ so others can feed him when needed.
and if I’m honest, I find myself too tired to get to the bottom of them. there is no optimization or thriving here, only survival.
it’s a miracle I’m sitting down to write this newsletter. as usual, it will be heavy on the griping. maybe a little angrier? there’s a lot of misandry. and very stream-of-consciousness because I don’t know how else to write. so, buckle up, friends! please keep your heads, shoulders, and arms inside the ride at all times and enjoy! 🎢
complaint #1: the losses
things I have lost:
body autonomy
the luxury of dilly dallying
sleep
the bandwidth for planning + executing anything beyond bare minimum
time for reflection
short term memory
my Wordle streak
freedom to leave the house without it being a 45-minute exercise
a positive body image
weight
journaling
acting on creative whims
self-esteem
time with friends
money
looking forward to the weekend
taking things for granted
patience
a clean and tidy home
closeness with Ciku
being friends with Elis
pieces of myself
fucks to give
things I have gained:
perspective
another barometer against which I measure my worthiness
newfound respect for and appreciation of mothers
awareness of my body’s capabilities
a camera roll of baby photos
immense responsibility
a fear of death
profound, transformative love
note: one day I’ll be less angry that my ‘lost’ list is longer than my ‘gain’ but today is not that day!
complaint #2: ugh… boys! *eyeroll*
boys don’t read—they don’t bother to read through your newsletter, they skip your Stories, and get easily overwhelmed by the ‘inundation’ of reels you send so they just don’t open them. they have books on their bedside table collecting dust. they don’t really care enough about postpartum recovery to read up on it. they cannot read a situation. they don’t read between the lines. my hot take (I don’t feel too strongly about it either way): they don’t read because they think they know everything already.
boys don’t listen—very related but also distinct from not reading. you can complain to a boy, and explicitly say you don’t want a solution, but what do they do? offer unsolicited advice anyway. most damning evidence that they don’t listen? they don’t remember what you said.
boys don’t ask questions—a complete lack of curiosity in the other person is so boy coded. I had a crush on this guy at work and I cannot tell you the number of times he didn’t give me the courtesy of asking me how I was doing or what I did over the weekend after I asked him. they don’t ask you about your favorite color. they don’t ask you how you’re feeling. they don’t ask you if you wanna be heard, hugged, or helped. they don’t ask you about your hopes and dreams. they don’t ask you how they can help you return to yourself.
we don’t ask for a lot. sure, we’re gaslit to believe we are asking for too much. but how hard is it to actually *see* someone? and I don’t mean superficially, I mean deeply. thoughtfully. enough to read your quirks and fall in love with them. enough to listen to the words not being said. enough to ask questions. to describe, to see, to know, to love… is to read, listen, and ask questions. something I’ve been thinking a lot about is how I reconcile raising a “boy” (I don’t believe in the gender binary, and Kai can choose to be whomever they want to be in the future, but for the sake of argument) when I have nothing but disdain for them? I don’t know. I can only hope that I raise a person someone like me will not have to complain about. raise dragonslayers in a world of dragons or something like that…
and before you come at me and say, “Elida!! You are painting with too broad a brush!! I have a friend, who has a sister, whose teacher is married to a man and apparently he does all of this!!” yes, these unicorns exist. my dear colleague… former colleague? anyway, FRIEND (I hope he’s cool with me calling him that) Filip is one of them. my friend Sjors, too. they would NEVER not read, not listen, and not ask questions. they are definitely #notallmen, but enough men and I refuse to be nuanced about it.
complaint #3: no flowers
being a mother is a thankless job: i’m running on delectable baby breath, indecipherable eye contact, and the odd coo.
being a mother is a thankless job: the only time people notice mothers is when they’re doing a bad job.
recommended reading
I am so fucking good at hating myself, I’ve had almost 30 years of practice! What’s not so good is that it keeps me from doing a lot of things, but most of all, it keeps me from believing. This letter from Mad as Ducks could’ve been written by me.
Polly’s response is pretty great.
And when I finally dug for what was haunting me, what I found was ANOTHER layer of self-hatred, but this layer was immovable and solid like marble. Even though I want to assure you of my confidence and swagger and raw enthusiasm out in the world, among other people, even though I want to explain that it took years to dig through the shame and the other gravelly and rocky and solid-granite layers of self-hatred that lay above this new, exposed marble like a subterranean layer cake, the simple truth is that at my core, I am full of love and ALSO full of self-hatred.
fine, so I’ve been hating on men a whole lot. you want to prove me wrong? read this. here’s a teaser:
Sometimes it feels like I am fighting to be a father in a world that has already decided you don’t really need one. Honestly, I had to tell myself some lies when I was younger—lies to convince myself I didn’t need my own dad. And now, here I am with my own son, you, trying to make sure you don’t repeat some of the same things I told myself to get through the nights when my father wasn’t there. I write letters every week, publicly, to prove to you that I matter in a world that has taught me and many others that parenting is a “buy one, get one free” deal—the father is just the extra.
“it takes a village”, and it does, but first we need to build one. I talk a lot with my dear friend Alice and Iman, on separate occasions, about how we try to rely on each other as little as possible. me no likey. inconvenience me, y’all. don’t worry, I’ll return the favor. this piece had some actionable recommendations I plan to exercise.
specifically: the mindset shift that I’m looking for people, not friends. If they turn into the latter, then great. the communication shift from “let me know if I can do anything!” to offering multiple choice options of what I can offer. also, giving time horizons for folks. I’m thinking of adopting some type of “office hours” except they’re visiting/hang hours, I just haven’t had the wherewithal to implement that yet. lastly, the habit shift of showing up; quantity time breeds quality time so putting in that time is worth it. not expecting reciprocity is also a start because I tend to use that as an excuse, e.g., “well, that person won’t do that for me, why should I?” well, because I can.
I’ve been…
crying about children dying in Palestine. why are some babies killed while others survive? where is God when babies are being murdered? where is the fairness? while we sit in our cushy homes, anaesthetizing ourselves from the horrors. we toss our phones away because we cannot sit with the discomfort of children dying. futures. potential. lives. all left to perish. where is the justice in that? simply because I was born at the “right” place, at the “right” time?
listening to the same 8 songs on rotation. here’s the playlist. if you’re curious, Kai has a playlist too.
watching lots of TV. I’ve basically binged every season of Schitt’s Creek. I discovered Six Feet Under and while I love it, I take breaks because it can get pretty grim even for me. The Residence was also a treat, can recommend. Season 2 of Love is Blind Sweden. Criminal Minds: Evolution is not as good (missing Dr. Spencer Reid) and it clearly has a lower budget and with whatever budget they had, they definitely did not choose to spend it on writers but it’s still interesting. what other dark things have I been watching? my mum and I finished Monk.
reading nothing because that demands brainpower that I simply do not possess at the moment and it is pissing me off! speaking of, I’ve been…
getting mad about the biological disparity in carrying pain. sometimes it feels like women’s bodies are nothing but vessels for pain. I’ve never met a woman who is not in some type of emotional, physical, and/or existential pain! women are overrepresented when it comes to chronic pain. and when we try to do something about that pain? medical practitioners don’t believe us! I’m so sick of pain and yet pain is all I know.
struggling with keeping a positive attitude, if you can’t tell.
loving how round Kai is getting. that breastmilk do him good.
hating way too much. I’m afraid I’ve turned into a hater.
missing the singular experience of walking home from a night out—alone—listening to music in your earphones and pretending you’re in some kind of movie.
crushing on all the women in my life! they are amazing. my most profound, makes-me-believe-in-soulmates kind of relationships are with other women. I love women. I’m so lucky to be a woman. I don’t know what I’d do without them.
please and thank you
in the spirit of ASKING for help, as I am in no position to offer much, I would love help with the following:
❗️let me know if you have any tips for achieving a sufficient ‘stash’ of breastmilk that allows your partner to bottle feed at least twice a day, while maintaining a steady demand (and not oversupplying). I’m happy to pump—I just don’t know how much or little. I’ve tried collecting with my Haaka but other than the morning, my letdown is pretty low. I’m quite happy to receive practical advice for that or for someone to offer to do that research for me.
❗️sure, I am open to recommendations for dealing with dryness in newborns, too.
❗️I’m turning 30 in May and I’m not sure if and how I want to celebrate. how’d you celebrate turning 30 if you were me? sound off below 👇
thank you for reading, especially if you identify as a boy. I know reading can be really hard for you so thank you so much for taking enough interest to read this far. and for my OGs, y’all know who you are, thank you—as always—for your consistent readership. I do not take it for granted. y’all really see me and for that, I am eternally thankful. may your month be less angry than mine!
may the stirring of the season awaken something deep within, filling you with fresh hope and possibility. let the soft rains of spring wash away any doubts. may the warmth of the sun touch your spirit, filling you with light and energy, and may the breeze carry with it a sense of calm and clarity. in this season of renewal, I hope you receive what you need to grow, and have courage to embrace both the light and the shadows, and the peace to know that brighter days are ahead. 🌱🌷
lots of love from your angry first-time mom,
eeshkie