Balboa makes for much better soothing a baby than a lindy basic

“Inside each joy was a hard kernel of sadness, as if I was always preparing myself for impending loss.” 3am and I’ve just started reading a book called Devotion, by Dani Shapiro. It is light and heavy all at the same time, and I like the sense of humor, mixed in, lightening the dark fears and big questions she carries around with her. And this line appears, in the middle of a paragraph. And I know exactly what she means. Moments like this make me feel less alone in the world. That my worries or fears or troubles are just part of being human.

I’ve woken up at 1:30am, to pump, and knew I was going to have a hard time falling asleep. I often do at this time of night. Especially, like tonight, when I’ve had a lot of sleep already. I put baby A to sleep in the room next to mine here at the hospital and the night nurses are taking care of her tonight. I’ve already slept some 5 ½ hours.

So I laid there, listening to the rain sound on the white noise soundtrack I’ve got going. I breathe, I try to calm down, I try to stop hearing Lady Gaga’s “Bad Romance” in my head. I do that – play songs in my head over and over. It keeps me from going to sleep, like some little nudge to push me back in to consciousness. Doesn’t have to be pop music, could well have been the Sesame Street theme song, or one of the strange concoctions we’ve introduced to soothe Baby A. And it is usually just a snippet of the song, over and over. With how much it resembles a mantra, I should be enlightened ten times over by now.

Open the window to cool off the room.

“…caught in a bad ro-mance!”

Turn over and put a pillow over my ears.

“Oooooo, caught in a….”

Try to release that feeling that has been with me so long. That grip on my heart. The one that I’ve never been able to relax through meditation. And believe me I tried a lot. It is like Dani Shapiro’s hard kernel. Yoga used to work sometimes, or a long session of dancing. I need to be exhausted to let it go. As if I’m the one holding it.

Like waiting for the other shoe to drop but it is not only clenched in my hand, it is superglued there.

“I want your love. La la la, I want your…”

So I’m the patient this time, at this hospital visit. They gave me a schedule, and “music and movement therapy” was on there this morning. Um, yeah. Really? I’d better not have to bang on some non-Western rhythm instrument, naming my demons in time with some beat. Or do some sort of theater movement exercise where I pretend to be angry, then, sad, then curious, then…do I have any idea of what exercises theater people do? No. But I can sure imagine some stupid ones!

But it was okay. And the person leading the session was young, and hip, and friendly, and most importantly, really normal. She had all sorts of great CDs in her case – the kind that make you relieved. Music that has once been on a radio station and not in a new age shop. I am happy to report a total lack of pan-flutes. And there I was, with a group of other people all with their own sadness or pain or exhaustion or questions. I danced. For the first time in 14 months, I danced as a single, self-contained individual. Not to make Baby A smile (although that is fun), or to rock her to sleep with a Balboa step. Not adapting to the need to hold her. My arms were mine, my legs, I could bounce or jump as hard as I wanted and not worry about a little brain in a little skull. All I had to worry about was not knocking myself out. Mission accomplished. It was good.

In the afternoon, in the daycare, I sat with a few other moms and we had craft time. Another chance for a totally dumb or cliché or infantile experience that was just really nice instead. Someone had said we were making bracelets…great, can I just end it all now with the nearest blunt utensil? But we used fishing wire to string together handfuls of different buttons. A teething toy, full of textures and colors, and totally spit-up resistant. A chance to make something for Baby A, and just sit and play with something tactile instead of just trying to pay bills and do laundry and get her to nap and and and…for those 2 hours. Of course, little miss “it goes in my mouth and if it happens to be any part of your skin, all the better, but I’ll settle for anything within reach” loved it. How nice to have a chance to think about her development stage with intent instead of just rushing to the store to buy yet another toy to keep her growing curiosity satisfied. Completely un-sickly sweet experience. Sentimental in a nice way, not in a lederhosen and cuckoo-clock way. Or in a “Precious Moments” way. In a way I could actually appreciate – quiet, simple, clever.

I just heard her crying next door. I let the nurse take it. I stayed in my room, and listened to it. It was fine. It is okay for me to have some alone time, even if I can’t sleep. I can read, write, stare at the ceiling. I can just be for a while.

“la la love, I want your love…”

Oh shut, up.