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House Arrest

It’s Sunday again and I’m missing the Walking Dead series on AMC again. When the door slams shut on that pre-parent life, one can feel a little isolated. Lost in my life without my cozy routine. My last baby had me reeling, read and remember with the Post Partum depression post. Thankfully, I have more support this time around. So many people in my life forming this amazing net that has surrounded me with well wishes beyond belief. Support network good.

I have dealt with the chaos and change as best a Virgo can. I pick up and clean the kitchen in the morning and spend the rest of the day trying to fold one basket of laundry. It’s that one foot nailed to the ground kinda feeling. I’m Sisyphus rolling the boulder up the hill in Tartarus only to have it roll down again, over and over again. The most dreadful punishment is futile labor. Didn’t I just wash this (fill in the blank)?

The newborn Mommy thing is a lot like being under house arrest. And not the Charlie Sheen driving a mini-cooper around my château kinda house arrest. But tonight, I busted free and I ran an errand without the baby. Just up to the liquor store for dinner vino. But the glee I felt as I left the house with the husband holding the baby and the Mom heating up the dinner, it was giddy glee.

The store was empty. The wine was on sale. And she carded me! The birds were singing happy springtime songs when I left the store. The store is just two blocks away but I felt like I’d driven miles. I have put on a good face but it would seem I’ve been a little more affected by the baby comes to stay at my house thing. And not in the ways people want to think. I hadn’t considered the fear of tethering would reoccur.

Why would I expect myself to completely sublimate my independence for absolute devotion? Unless to become a nun? Yes, I want my child to feed from the trough of “booby milk is best”. But there is a definite struggle sometimes to not want to be writing or making pretty things for those hours instead. Some sublimation is expected but I’m no Stepford Mama.

So starting in another month, I hope to get a pump and occasionally pack Fiona’s lunch in a bottle. I am OK with allowing others to feast on her loveliness for short periods of time. And taking a leisurely stroll through the grocery store alone sounds like Heaven. Or a run or a coffee date or a drive in the country…

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