Conserving energy

You know that saying about the road to Hell? Yeah, well I had all sorts of good intentions after my long period of radio silence of getting back into my regular blogging habits, but ... I got a little derailed by a full-on couple of weeks, which have been personally capped by the likelihood of losing my job (it has been ‘disestablished’ under a current proposal for a new organisational structure, which is due to be finalised at the end of May) and a bout of lurgy that took me back to my sick-bed just as I was finally getting over that pesky morning sickness. Hmmm, I know, first world problems, right?  

To put it in perspective, this was the same fortnight that saw the Boston marathon bombings, a series of bombings in Iraq ahead of provincial elections, the death and funeral of divisive former British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher, a major industrial accident in Texas and, more positively, the passing of legislation to ensure marriage equality in New Zealand and then France (the 13th and 14th countries to pass such legislation). Among other things. All things considered, being a bit sick, but otherwise reasonably healthy, and still having a pay-check while my organisation settles on and into a new structure seem like things worth being thankful for. 

All of this perspective then got me thinking about energy. More specifically, about how to conserve and renew it. Not in the environmental and economic sense of energy sources, whether fossil or renewable, clean, green or fracked-up. Nor in the sense of excess energy that needs to be expended, as in Georges Bataille’s Accursed Share ... or in the case of an over-active toddler.

No, I mean, energy in the sense of the life-force - or lack of it - that each person draws on to get through the day. You know how some days you feel like you can do anything, and if you get a few extra tasks to do, you can take them in your stride, no problem? (I dimly recollect these kind of days). Or some days you just feel so ground down that everything, no matter how small, seems like a chore and an imposition? Objectively, there may be little difference to tell between the kinds of things a person has to do on each of these days. The difference between them lies in the reserves of energy a person can draw on in order to get through them. Those reserves of time and energy can be eroded by any number of things: for example, a decline in physical health, over-committing oneself, lack of support, abuse.  On the other hand, they can also be built up: for example, by enjoying your work, having a supportive network of family and/or friends, volunteering, exercising.  

Each person occupies a series of roles that require some of this energy: for example, as a family member (and most people occupy more than one role in their families), a friend, community member, person with interests and activities (I hate the word ‘hobbies’), workers and so on. For these roles to be active, each requires some of your time and energy. Most days, it’s a question of making sure those are as in balance as it’s possible for them to be, given the range of other factors going on in people’s lives. Some of these roles are energising: it can be fun to relax with friends or family or to feel like you’ve made a bit of a difference in a piece of work or in community activity. Other roles can suck your energy: a proposed job-restructure is incredibly de-motivating and de-stabilising to an organisation and its workers, even if their jobs aren’t on the line.

One of the things that was absorbing my energy recently was feeling bad that I wasn’t able to contribute to the care of my daughter while I was experiencing morning sickness in the way that I had before I got pregnant. In order to get out the door in the morning, my husband and I had previously split the jobs that needed to be done to do this. Even though it was obviously great that my husband took over nearly all the toddler-related wrangling while I was sick, I felt bad that this was the case. I also felt bad that the increased level of care he gave her meant that she increasingly turned to him if she was upset or wanted something, or started saying things like ‘I don’t want my mummy’ when she passed by on her way to breakfast. (Sidenote: this was also the period when she started saying things like ‘I don’t want my feet’ so I didn’t take her words too much to heart, even though they stung a little.)

It was while thinking about energy and how much each role needs, that I started to think more about the new role that I was (and am) assuming: that of mother-to-be. Not that anyone was accusing me of malingering or anything and my sense of feeling-bad was entirely self-imposed, but I realised that I hadn’t yet made the mental switch to the fact that I am now no longer ‘just’ the mother of one child. That second child might not yet be born, but it was definitely making its presence felt and demanding energy from me. And I am currently the only one who can provide that energy. While I was struggling to keep my breakfast down, I was also growing a foetus and a placenta, and various other parts of my body were changing too to accommodate them. Thought about this way, the energy my husband is directly investing in the second child is minimal at present, even as the energy he is putting into the care of the first is increasing. This shifting of energy, of trying to find the ideal balance between all my (and our) roles, is only going to become more necessary once the baby is actually born. 

In one sense, this is all kind of obvious. But, for me, it actually required me to sit down and think about how and where I use my energy to realise that feeling bad about being unable to care for my daughter in the way I’d like while having ‘morning’ sickness is a waste of time and energy. Not least because she doesn’t care that I feel bad that I didn’t get her up in the morning, she only cares that I get her up in the morning or, if I don’t, that someone else does. So, instead, I have come to feel glad that she is spending more time with her dad in the mornings, that I have a husband who’s happy to step up, and that admitting to myself that I don’t have the unlimited energy resources of a fictional Superwoman is both a good thing and a good way to embark on this latest stage of motherhood.

Taking the plunge

It’s been a long time between drinks, both literally and metaphorically. The last time I had an alcoholic beverage - a very nice glass of gewurztraminer - was sometime in early January. And the last time I posted to this blog was shortly after the national census in March. Why this combination of abstinence and radio silence?

Well ... drum roll please ... because I have once  again taken the plunge and am nearly four months pregnant, with the baby due in early October. Woo .. hoo?

The main reason for my fall-off in motherhood-type musings, then, is that winning combination of marrow-deep exhaustion, endless nausea and frequent vomiting that characterise the first trimester (well, mine, at least). In this physical state, I’m feeling ahead of the game if I can get out of bed without being sick, drop off the child to her carer and get through a day of work.  

It’s been interesting - well, it’s passed the time anyway - to compare last time and this time, and I imagine the comparisons will continue all the way through the rest of the pregnancy to birth and beyond. Given that this blog was started well after my last pregnancy and birth experience, which I wrote about with the benefit of hindsight, I thought it might be fun - for me at least - to write about the second time round as it happens. Well, I won‘t be live-blogging the actual birth, but you get the idea.   

This time last year, I was still feeling pretty ambivalent about going through it all again. But time passes, and the idea of having another baby became more appealing. Or maybe I got to the point where I'd forgotten just enough of that very intense first year for it to seem like a good idea to take the plunge again.

So what’s happened so far? What’s the same and what’s different?

Having changed GPs, this time round I was congratulated on being pregnant, given a confirmation pregnancy test as well as comprehensive information on lead maternity carers ... and have not yet been compared to a car. Already this is a drastic improvement on how my previous doctor handled the news last time.

My current GP sent me for a 7-week dating scan. Having a lived appreciation of what is involved in bringing up one child, I spent much of the time beforehand convinced that I was going to have twins ... or even triplets. After drinking a litre of water in under an hour, so the radiologist would be able to find their way to the relevant bits, I sloshed my way to the ultrasound room. Again, we saw a shadowy egg sac and heard a beating heart. Fortunately, like last time, it was just the one. Phew. 

I have been for an optional 12-week scan, the principal reason for which is to screen for suspected chromosonal ‘abnormalities’. I had decidedly more mixed feelings about this scan this time round. Last time, I was excited about any opportunity to see what was going on in there, and the reason for actually having the scan felt very abstract and unreal. But this time round, I have a greater awareness of why the scan is offered and what it might mean for us, if the initial scan indicates that there might be a problem. I could’ve chosen not to have it, but at the same time I want to know even if if means facing more difficult choices further down the track. I’ve yet to receive the results, which are due next week. Fingers crossed.

While having the 12-week scan, the radiologist had some trouble trying to get a decent view of the embryo. While he focussed on getting a good image, he didn’t say much to me. In a state of heightened anxiety, I over-interpreted his silence to mean that he must’ve seen something concerning. Instead of the excitement of last time, I started feeling really upset watching the strange blob on the screen move around. I was on the verge of tears when he finally spoke, announcing that it’d taken him a while to get a good view. For the future, communication helps dude. Especially after my scan-o-rama experience last time.  

Even though I have been very tired and sick over the last few weeks, I’m fairly sure it hasn’t been quite as bad as last time (or maybe I’m just trying to kid myself this is the case). I’m starting to feel more like myself now, though some days are still better than others. I always go out with a trusty plastic bag or three with me: these came in handy the times I was sick right outside a core government department (on more than one occasion, I might add),  and at my desk just before a big meeting. On the plus side, I was less concerned with what might happen at the meeting, than with trying to look like I hadn’t lost my breakfast immediately beforehand. I think this is called perspective.

With a child around already whose needs and wants are very real and pressing, this baby - who I am yet to feel moving around - still feels very abstract and faraway. I’m finding it really hard to imagine having two little people around the place. The best I can come up with is a kind of clone of the one we already have ... only smaller. But, as I continually hear, babies are all different, and I’m wondering what new and special tricks this little one will have up his or her sleeve. Difficulty breastfeeding? All night feeding marathons? Reflux? Who knows...

Also in the abstract - and it’ll be interesting to compare what I write now to what I experience after the baby’s birth - I’m feeling like I might be a little more prepared this time round. Or, at least, that I have more of an idea of what to expect: how time-consuming a newborn baby is, how much they feed, how they might disrupt your sleep, the potential for feeling isolated, how you have to scale back what you can reasonably expect to do in a day and so on. But perhaps this is a comforting illusion? Time will tell ...

Finally, in quieter moments, there is one thing that I hope will be very different this time around. The birth experience itself. After last time, the doctors at the hospital assured us that there was no reason I couldn’t have another child and that it was very unlikely what had happened then would happen again. Unlikely ... but not impossible, says a small voice in my brain, who is still not entirely convinced that another baby is a great idea. For me, then, taking the plunge a second time round is about the triumph of hope over experience, of feeling more informed and preparing myself as much as I can (including specifying a preference for an emergency caesarean over forceps, if the need arises), and of feeling the fear and doing it anyway.