The baby is asleep.
[[Check Twitter.]]ππππππ’ πΌππππ @stcymsn Jul 11 2020
Some friends and I were lamenting that we don't write enough IF these days. So I put together a lightweight interactive fiction jam, and you should come join!
Introducing Fortnightly Fiction Jam. Runs for 2 weeks from Monday to July 26. This is a just-for-fun interactive fiction prompt--write an IF piece in 2 weeks.
Optional theme "Transition Phase." Very chill. Beginners welcome. Experimentation encouraged.
[[Send this to your husband.]]"Can you bring the baby's chair?"
[[Sure.]]You breastfeed. The baby latches well, but he's eating less.
You're not sure whether it's because you're not producing enough milk or he's gotten more efficient.
You want to pump to boost your supply, but you're so, so tired. Your time is best spent sleeping so you have energy to hold the baby tomorrow.
And the day after.
And the day after.
All the same.
Three days later, the game jam is still on your mind.
[[Ask husband.]]"Hey, did you see the link I sent you? About the game jam?"
"No, did you send me something?"
"Yeah, I guess you were busy with the baby. Look, it's an online game jam, two weeks."
"Do the game jam! I'll hold the baby while you work on it!"
[[Sweet!]]You have support!
[[Work on the game jam.]]You'd like to, but you have to wash and sterilize the baby's bottles. He's come a long way from the NICU, but his doctor still wants him on the high-calorie formula to get his weight up.
Sterilizing the bottles is meticulous work. You always feel like you're in a lab.
[[Do that, then work on the game jam.]]Now you have to do laundry.
[[The game jam can wait, you have two weeks.]] Your baby can sit upright with minimal support!
[[Put him on your shoulder like a parrot!]]It's super cute. You take pics. The new phone camera is really good.
Now it's time for him to have his six-month checkup.
He's adorable at the doctors'. The mandatory gloves and masks are still surreal.
The cat learned to sit in the box and meow to ask for pets.
[[Take lots of pictures and send them to everyone!]]Everyone loves your baby. His grandparents. Your friends. Your husband's friends.
You feel bad for taking the time to work on a game when so much is happening. It can wait.
And now it's time for therapy.
[[Ask your therapist what he thinks.]]"You know how last week we talked about finding time to be creative and how it's chathartic? I haven't really had the time to do much. I managed to write one paragraph and my friend liked it, but that's it. Now there's this game jam...."
Your therapist isn't a gamer. You have to explain what a game jam is to him.
"That sounds fun. If you feel it'll help you, definitely go for it. And your husband is clearly supportive."
"He is! But there's so much to do, I feel really guilty. You know, I was reading a thing the other day about how there are so many games about being a dad, but not nearly enough about being a mom."
"You should make that!"
"I can't! I barely have any free time, and when I do, I'm so tired, I just want to sit and be human. Take a shower or watch Netflix or something."
"That's sort of ironic. You can't make a game about being a mom, because of the responsiblities of being a mom."
"Right?"
[[There's still time. Right?]]The baby takes forever to sleep. You're miserable. You take a selfie.
You don't take a lot of selfies, but you've started documenting unglamourous, "real", "raw" mom moments. The really difficult stuff. Your hair's a mess. You haven't showered in ages. You miss sleep. You understand every day why sleep deprivation is used as torture.
The baby wakes up. Suddenly, his arms are long enough to hug around your neck! It's bliss. You can't stop giggling. Your husband takes photos of that.
[[Maybe you can write anything else. It doesn't have to be for the game jam.]]You manage to scrounge up enough time to write three paragraphs. Three! You're super proud.
You still feel guilty for having taken the time for yourself, but you feel better having gotten those plot bunnies out of your head.
The summer heat is unbearable. The AC doesn't always catch up. Or it's too cold.
[[Whatever.]]Therapy.
"I appreciate my husband's support and I really wanted to work on the game jam, but I just can't. I did manage to write three paragraphs, though!"
"That's good! Don't worry about the game jam, there will be others, right?"
"Yeah, I don't know what I'm doing. All this identity stuff is exhausting."
"You can focus on being a mom for now. It's going to take time to integrate all these new things into your identity. There are so many of them, of course other aspects will be pushed aside for now."
"I hate it. It's so overwhelming. None of our usual support systems work with this pandemic going on. I hate it so much."
[[You really do.]]The baby's discovered his feet! He can only hold his left foot. Watching him struggle to reach for his right foot is fascinating.
You remember your therapist telling you to watch how babies don't quit trying after the first time.
Two days later, he can hold both feet.
It's convenient while changing diapers.
[[Focus on being a mom.]]Your baby needs a doctor's appointment. You have to find a good one. It's exhausting.
Your husband has a fever. You're terrified it's Corona. What if he dies? You can't do this alone.
Your friend is coming over to bring you a stroller. You ask your mom downstairs to pick it up.
Your mom enjoys having your friend and her two daughters over. You just want this to be over and done with. You can't even talk to your friend honestly while your mom's here because she doesn't even know that your husband's sick.
Your husband sleeps a lot. He can't watch the baby. You do 48 hours on 4 hours of sleep.
You ask him to hold the baby so you can cry.
[[You cry a lot.]]The post-partum depression sucks. You're like Carla in that one episode of Scrubs.
Your mom's phone dies. You don't want to tell her your husband's sick. You take care of the baby while buying her a new phone.
You spend two days running up and down the stairs with the baby to fix her old phone enough to back up the data and stick it in the new phone.
Your husband's temperature goes down. It's not Corona. It wasn't even a possibility. That was your anxiety talking. You knew that all along. It doesn't stop the intrusive thoughts. You don't want to raise your baby alone. It's not like anyone would ever agree to marry you a second time. The first time was a miracle.
There's that depression again.
[[Ugh.]]You tell your husband you're coming to terms with formula. You've come to the conclusion that getting to exclusively breastfeed is a privilege. You need to have resources. A support system. Money. Anything. With the odds stacked against you, you're proud you even made it past six months. He'll be old enough for solids soon, anyway. You'll keep breastfeeding as long as your boobs cooperate.
It takes your husband being sick for you to get over your anxiety of not sleeping at night. It also helps that baby's been getting some good hours. Three at a stretch. Five, sometimes! It might finally be time to transition to sleeping when the baby sleeps. Taking shifts with the baby so the other one can sleep is lonely and wears on you.
You're both tired, but at least you're together again. It's easier to share the burden.
For the first time in five months, you sit together in the living room and watch Netflix.
[[The days are long, but the years are short.]]The baby slept for two hours and forty minutes. You feel less like a zombie.
You breastfeed. You go to sterilize the bottles. Husband plays with the baby.
"Hey, I have to send some e-mails, are you okay holding the baby?"
"Sure, go ahead."
[[Open the computer.]]Hey, look. It's the game jam.
"Nine hours left. Hahaha! I should totally make a game that's literally just like:
Oh, look! A game jam!
Click.
You're a mom. You're too tired.
The end."
Your husband is delighted.
"Do it! Do it now!"
"Nah, we still have to take out the trash and--"
"No. Stop. Do it right now. Baby's fine, I'm awake. This is more important than your e-mails. Do it!"
[[Bookends are so recursive.]]It's not great, but you did it! You documented some of your experience and you shared it!
It's the farthest thing from a good game. It's hardly even a game. The narrative line is literally just a line with no diversion. But it's over a thousand words and it's a reflection about your new life as a mother.
You'd agreed with your therapist your mom motto is "good enough IS good enough". Your inner perfectionist hates it. But it's true.
[[You did it!]]You made a game! Sort of.
It feels good. You're thankful and grateful and filled with the warm fuzzies and it's these moments that keep you going.
Now you have to take out the trash.