The days pass so slowly and time seems to dwell on my never ceasing conscious. The windows contain a depressed view of cars passing on the highway, cement walls, and a parking lot. The grass is gathered in a small area along the side of the cement wall. My soul hungers for social interaction, but these walls are like bars and I feel trapped.
Day after day I stay in. I’m home. Here I have what I need. Warm clothes, food, and internet. I use the bathroom so much that I am grateful my journey from bed to living room isn’t far, but something deeper ebbs away at me. I need more to life. He just wants me to be safe. He is just looking out for me, but why do some days feel more captive than others? Am I barring myself inside away from others? It’s been over a month and I have no friends here. I keep to myself because everyone else does the same.
I started looking for a job, but I know I’ll have to work from home. I can’t spend my days waiting on him to come home. I cook, prepare his lunch, clean the kitchen, set his coffee, and go to sleep. When I awake, I lie in bed wishing there was something more to do. I need more activities in my life.
Perhaps I should set a schedule, but I’ve never been good at reinforcing it upon myself. Today we disagreed about who should mail out the baby shower invites. I can feel the depression setting back in. I did something positive today, I tell myself, but that doesn’t seem to hold back the tears.
Everything has an emotion behind it. Maybe my writing is my only true escape outside these walls. My body isn’t capable of keeping up with the things I wish to do. I become winded after breakfast, and I need to sit down. The couch only provides minimal comfort as the pressure from my ever growing belly presses down onto my lungs. My back aches as I journey from the living room to the bathroom. I attempt to straighten up our bedroom and am met with a burning pain in my pelvis.
Only one more month to go before our sweet baby girl is here and my head swims with fears that I am not ready. I feel as though I entered this race too soon. Fearing my future days of a structured routine and never even diaper changes and feedings will slowly eat away at my sanity. I fear I won’t even be able to handle going into labor. The sheer thought of everyone gathering around as she makes her entrance into the world makes me feel dirty. All of those eyes peering at my most sacred parts, being forced to bear my everything against my will. Confined to a bed with an IV hooked into my arm as though I am some kind of rare experiment.
I just can’t bear the thoughts. It makes me want to run away to the woods and give birth alone. A scared bond between mother and child to only be witnessed by me. Maybe it’s the hormones making me delusional. In fact, I can’t even remember the me before my system became flooded with hormones and never ending feelings. What is even sadder is that I will never know that girl again. She is gone forever and I didn’t get to say goodbye.
As tears flow down my now eight month chubby cheeks, I try to calm myself. I envision holding my sweet baby girl and see flash backs of her on the ultrasound screen sucking her hand. She needs me to be strong. I need to show her that there is a place for young moms in this world. That I can be successful and a full time mommy!
There’s the old me peeking through. Maybe she isn’t forever lost after all. Maybe the only cage around this bird is one built constructed of fears from moving to a new city and being forced to start with new beginnings. But this bird will always have her wings and that’s truly what makes her free.