In July, I started this privileged thing of putting Nora in daycare five days a week, while only working three days a week (which the "part-time" schedule has always been the case for many years- the #1 factor of my joy of being a working individual). Which means I have two days to myself. Only recently have I started to remember what it was like to be childless and free to have time for even an hour of boredom. I used to try and take advantage by going out to cafes to read and write, or moseying around soho, but now I just want to stay at home and take care of all the things I wasn't able to get to (picking up after Nora, dishes, laundry, business related tasks) and then try to get ahead (groceries, prepping meals for Nora, ideally a homecooked meal for me and Cliff, professional development). This likely won't be a forever thing, once the next baby comes around early next year.
I'm 15 weeks pregnant with a boy. Sometimes it feels surreal that I'm pregnant, and I doubt myself. My stomach looks less like a pregnant belly and more just like a regular belly- is there really a baby in there? This pregnancy has been quite different than my first in so many ways that I'm inclined to believe that this baby will be vastly different from Nora. I don't know how to feel about that. Is that a good thing or a bad thing? I don't know how to brace myself.
For me, there's something empowering about being a psychotherapist and having mental health issues. I know not every clinician feels this way. When I was going through intense baby blues the first week with Nora, even in the lowest moments, there was an ease of understanding what I was going through. This pregnancy, I've been struggling with depression. I'm less of an episodic depressive and more of an even keeled, low-grade dysthymic person. But this time, it truly felt like an episode. The classic: lack of pleasure in things I usually enjoy, low motivation, low energy, insomnia, guilt, crying for no reason, loneliness, hopelessness. The hopelessness is a little strange though. It's less of the fact of no hope, but the feeling of no hope. In which case, I suppose it's not fully hopelessness if I think it's just a feeling that will pass.
I want to write again, more frequently, without agenda or creative pursuit. Just to be in the practice of it. It was my original intent to start a newsletter once Nora was born, but then I chickened out at the actual thought of beginning it. Who will want to sign up? Who will care?
After over 10 years, I signed on to Instagram. I actually didn't know I still had my account-- I guess I had deactivated it, not deleted it, as I had thought. I recently got an email that someone from Bulgaria had logged into my account, so I learned that I still had my account and that I needed to change my password. When I logged in from my laptop, I saw my profile photo. It was like a relic of the past, frozen in 2013- an outdated, pixelated version of me with my signature side swept bangs. Admittedly, I was too afraid to click around, so I only saw a few photos on the feed. I didn't even know who some of the people were- I guess I followed some semi famous strangers. I did look at one person's IG in depth- an acquaintance that I admire but generally never got close with. She still looks the same- lovely, classy. She got married. She had a baby. There was still more I wanted to know, without having a conversation with her. Not because I don't want to meet up with her, but it's just too weird. It's been too long. We never hung out one on one. I remember I casually told her I was in therapy and she looked shocked, like the innocent little flower that she was. Granted, it was almost 10 years ago, so perhaps therapy for Asians at that time was even less common than now. I wanted to share how enlightening it was, but she didn't meet me there. I was disappointed by her naiveté. I wished she was less surprised by the real world, and more "with it." Has she changed since? What does she think about when she's alone with her thoughts? What does she like about her husband? What was her pregnancy like?
So the blog (RIP? Now I guess the closest thing is the newsletter) is the intimate opposite of Instagram. You can look, and I will let you look, and you don't have to meet up with me to know more than just my big life milestones.
