I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

postpartum dispatches

I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

I am writing this on my phone while my baby naps in my arms. I kiss his forehead once every three minutes and I'm attuned to every tiny bump on his face. I baste them with breast milk. I wonder where he got his long, curled eyelashes. Not from his father. Definitely not from me.

I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

Last night I sat cross legged in the tub, fully clothed, and kicked his feet up and down so he could feel the water splash. Like me, he loves the water. He won't stop smiling these days. Sometimes it makes me weep.

I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

My father in law died five weeks after the baby was born. After we got home from Phoenix I began sending out email inquiries to join churches in my neighborhood. Only one replied; she said, “See you Sunday!” I didn't send anymore inquiries after that.

I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

I am emotionally bereft. I am spiritually chopped.

I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

I have been remarkably calm until very recently. I have been applying for jobs in restaurants. I feel like I'm 26 again. And 27 and 28 and 29 and 30. I could not have known seven years ago that I would be in a constant state of leaving and then coming back. I am afraid that my desires have changed, evolved, become unacceptable. When are you allowed to trust yourself again after you have a child?

I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

In the morning I dress my son on an antique dresser I made into a changing table when I was seven months pregnant. He sticks his tongue out, smiling, babbling. If I were going back to teach in the fall, I'd only have three more weeks of these moments. Nonetheless the walls are closing in. I imagine a chorus of people waiting to tell me that they told me so. They did tell me so. They warned me this might happen. I check my email one hundred times a day. No interviews and no spiritual salvation, either.

I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

The other night my best friend picked me up and drove me around. She divined that I needed to be driven around. I smoked cigarettes and drank non alcoholic beers. The bartender clarified that the zero stood for zero alcohol and not zero calories. Either way, an itch was scratched. My friend and I reached precisely zero conclusions.

I AM POWERLESS IN THE FACE OF

With every day that passes I fear that my time has run out.