what do you do with all this need?

on wanting what cannot be

Not long after giving birth to Lily, I was reading Sarah Polley's (brilliant, sharp, funny, vital) memoir in essays, Run Towards the Danger. I'm probably massaging some details, but in one chapter, she talks about having already had two children, being certain she wouldn't have more, and then having a dream in which she's at a hospital and there's a baby crying for her. When she wakes up, she's hysterical, telling her husband they have to go get baby Amy, they've left Amy, Amy needs them. 

Ten months later, she gives birth to a baby she names Amy. 

Yes, I thought, reading that. That's what I need. It's not that I wanted more children, necessarily, but in that sea-sick sleepless state I also felt that being done with having babies would be a little bit like dying. 

That night, I had my own dream. 

I was walking a long, impossible, gauntlet-defying route to my OBs office with my best friend, having to fight through literal gladiator arenas, ruins, a medieval street festival in order to get there. I knew I was pregnant, but my stomach was slowly shrinking, my bump getting smaller as we rushed along, and everything felt wrong, leaden, difficult. When we finally made it to the office, I had to go in alone, up a tiny, caged elevator only big enough for one. Arriving at the top floor, the receptionist told me my beloved OB had just died. Instead of an ultrasound, they gave me a box filled with sand, and told me to look for my baby. I ran my hands through the sand over and over, searching, the tiny grains falling through my fingers, coming up empty again and again, and finally the staff tells me they're sorry, but I've lost the baby. 

And that was the dream. 

As far as dream-messages go, you really can't get much clearer than that. And this wasn't surprising, exactly, because inasmuch as I'd ever imagined my family, I had never considered more than two kids. And now we had them. Vic was done, that was clear — I'd already had to muscle him into agreeing to the second. I had said all through Lily's pregnancy that this was the last baby, the last time I would be pregnant, we were done; and yet, as soon as she emerged, sticky and perfect, I wanted more. 

ouch

Some moms online (and I'm going to talk about moms here not because we are the only ones experiencing these longings or confusion, but because we’re the only ones wailing about it on instagram) talk about their third (or 4th/5th/whatever) as coming from a place of completion, as in "our family just didn't feel complete." I felt this after Mira; I told Vic (via our therapist, lol) that if we didn't have another baby, I would have to mourn the child-that-wasn't. There would be, forever, a hole in our family where s/he was meant to be. 

I do not feel that way now. I look at our family, the four of us, and it feels right. Symmetrical. 

And yet. 

There is, in my body, some kind of void. It's as if, in becoming pregnant and carrying a baby, I learned there is this secret room inside of me, and now I can't help but know it is there, and know it is empty. Or like I discovered some super power —which, what is pregnancy and birth and keeping a newborn alive if not that, truly — but now it's dormant again, and I can't help but feel less than. And isn't this part of every origin story? There comes a moment where they give up the fight, put away their boots and cape, and try to live a normal life? Cut to Peter Parker eating a turkey sandwich, Clark Kent vacuuming his bedroom. Cue wistful music. Cue national emergency, and they stare doggedly out the window, and know the time has come: they have to suit up again, be who they are meant to be. No one can escape destiny forever. 

Does this all sound a bit like some tradwife rhetoric? Like a woman only realizing her true vocation once she becomes a wife and mother? (Bless.) Sure does! Not great! But I get it, is the thing — I get the impulse. And I know, too, that one more baby isn't the answer, that this desire would stretch on, a line of endless roly-poly babies, my body their conduit and haven, my body making miracles, my body a thing of wonder, my body finally, finally, a thing that makes sense to me. 

When my book sold, I had the sense of a door closing. I know I could not, cannot, edit this book, publish and publicize it, and write the second while pregnant or with a newborn. It was book or baby, I told Vic, somewhat seriously. I am not an energetic person, let alone when I'm pregnant, and I am now 40, so even if these withered, pickled eggs could make more babies, it's not like I'd suddenly transfigure into a prairie-dress-wearing golem made of sourdough starter and Jesus, all aglow. I love sleep, I hate chaos and mess, I love being alone. And yet the idea of closing this chapter, of resigning all of this — the swell of stomach, the butterfly kick, the first look, the hunger, the squish and softness, the power-pleasure-pain, huge and exquisite — to memory alone, is so gutting, so sad, that I feel like I’m staring out the window, waiting for the city to burn, waiting for that call only I can answer.

Truly, I’m asking: what goes where the baby is supposed to go?

Self Soothing

• I got a summer cold this week (the ultimate insult). Mostly when I’m sick I just mope around but drinking a bunch of lemon and ginger tends to make me feel like I’m actively doing something to get better? That said, I never actually want to make a “wellness drink” when I’m sick because I’m so mad, so I was very grateful to past me for making these “immunity cubes” a few months back. I think they might have been a viral TikTok thing but I got the recipe from my mother-in-law and that makes it feel authentic. You can google for quantities, but basically you blend up lemons, oranges, grapefruit, ginger, turmeric, pepper, and honey, then freeze it into ice cubes and store those in the freezer for when you feel like garbage. Pop one in a mug of hot water and you’ll be better by morning! (No you won’t, you clown. But it does feel nice to take care of yourself.)

• I’m ready to announce that the only good flavor of Ben & Jerry’s is Milk and Cookies.

• I’m also ready to announce that season 2 of Bridgerton was the best season and no, it’s not only because Jonathan Bailey is an absolute snack, but mostly that’s why, yes.

  

  he is also acting circles around everyone else!

• Does anyone have a good hack for iced chai? I’ve weaned myself off Starbucks and now use this Blue Lotus mix (recommend), but even when I make a concentrate with honey and refrigerate it for later, it’s still a bit grainy?