No Pretty Prose Pt. 1
It’s my son’s second birthday this weekend. And it feels like a lifetime ago that I was pregnant with him. So much has changed and it’s been painful but I’ve also thrived with it.
The week that Trey was born, my dad flew into Seattle. Since we weren’t sure when we were going to be spending the night at the hospital to give birth, we planned for Randy to watch the boys (our goldendoodle Rice and chihuahua terrier Harry). I feel like the two of them definitely prepped us a little bit for parenthood. We’ve moved them across the country, they’ve flown more times than most people. They were comfortable with my dad, Randy, which was a good thing.
My best friend owned a unit in our condo building, too, so for the week or so that we waited for Trey’s arrival, he was able to stay down there just a few floors below our 30th floor Seattle skyline view.
My relationship with my dad is beautiful. We are so very close and yet there’s so much dissonance in who we are as people. I’m married to my college sweetheart and he’s a proud polygamist (though he’d never use that word). The hardest drug I’ve done is weed and he’s been incarcerated multiple times for meth. There’s an irony and pain in our tainted trust of a relationship but I’ve come to accept it for what it is over the years.
After our beautiful boy was born, my dad stayed in town indefinitely as my faux au pair while we waited for my real au pair’s visa to get approved.
Life with a newborn, in my experience, can only be characterized as unpredictable weather (sorry, I know this piece is called No Pretty Prose) — a foggy season dotted with unexpected sunshine and rainbows.
Those first few weeks I relied on my mom, dad, doula and husband. I felt confident and strong, though sleep was only enjoyed for a few hours at a time. Feeding a baby is no joke.
A few months later it was my baby’s first Christmas and the first holiday during the pandemic. My dad got COVID, which was frustrating, since I urged him to take precautions. Though I didn’t see much family in person that week, it was sweet bringing Trey to the Bay and wearing matching pajamas as a family, him donning an infant hat with a little plastic shade in front to keep the Christmas germs away through the airport.
Sometime between Christmas and New Years I got pregnant again, little Trey only five months old. It wasn’t an easy fourth trimester and beyond, but we were really confident and excited going into this back to back adventure that would be two babies under two. My mind and body were strong, we were all healthy. It never crossed my mind that a year later I’d fall into one of my darkest depression seasons of my life.
