Welcome to Mommy Mondays, my designated day to paint my parenting picture.
It has taken me almost three months to be able to write about this without crying.
I'm talking about a chair. A glider, it's called now, because "rocking chair" conjures thoughts of hillbilly porches and bonnets.
This chair saga begins last summer when I was very large pregnant.
The Gorilla really really wanted this particular glider for Pigtail's nursery. I think he had visions of himself rocking our precious baby to sleep in this soft (ugly) chair. I have nothing against (ugly) gliders, but we already had a chair. It used to be in our tiki room, so it was a little old, but it fit perfectly and was large and comfy.
The best part about this chair is that we already had it. By the time I was working on the nursery, I was sick of spending. I tried to keep it minimal, but we bought a lot for Miss Pigtail, and I felt like using a chair we already had was a good way to save money.
The Gorilla did not fight me on this decision, but every time we went to this particular baby store, he would sit in the cushy glider and make eyes at me.
Pigtail was born, we brought her home, and within days decided we needed a rocker (excuse me, glider). In my post-birth haze, I was on the outskirts of this decision. I think my mom was on The Gorilla's side, and I needed a few things at the baby store anyway, and I just agreed to the whole trip.
Pigtail was six days old.
We drove to Juvenile, and I carefully carried Pigtail in her new sling. My walk was still ginger. People ooohed and ahhhed over my newborn baby and gave me wide-eyed looks of What Are You Doing Out With Her while we tried the various chairs the store offered. We decided on the chair The Gorilla had in mind all along.
The saleswoman informed me that the chair we wanted would take ten to twelve weeks for delivery. There was no way around it and no, we couldn't buy the floor model.
Standing in this store, still sore from delivery, my very fragile facade shattered into a million pieces.
When I say I lost it, I mean that I lost every ounce of self-control that had been keeping my emotions in check all week. Tears started streaming down my face and I excused myself to go outside. I sat outside on the concrete curb and sobbed. I knew I was being ridiculous, I knew this was some sort of hormone freak-out, but it felt like my heart was breaking. If only we had ordered the chair when he wanted to this summer, we would already have it, I thought.
Passersby were staring.
I finally pulled it together enough to go back in the store where my parents and my husband were waiting while pretending to browse. The Gorilla was staring at me with a look I'd never seen before. He opened his mouth and said,
"What is wrong with you? You need to calm down."
Is it humanly possibly for him to have said anything worse? Everyone knows that one of the most ineffective phrases in the world is "Calm down." And in our entire relationship, I don't think he's ever said either of those things to me. Of course, I had never broken down entirely in a retail store either, so I suppose we were both full of firsts that day.
I opened my mouth to say some variation of WhatsWrongWithMeIsThatIPushedABabyOutMyWhooWhooSixDaysAgoAndI'mEmotional, but stopped. There was no explaining or rationalizing the kind of crazy I felt. We had to leave the store.
There were apologies later, and I might have shed a few more tears. We both understood that it was not a normal circumstance, and maybe we were underestimating the toll the week had taken on both of us.
I'm telling this story because, after a year of pregnancy and childbirth, the hormone tide appears to be ebbing just a bit. And because when people told me that my hormones might be a little out of whack during this time, I didn't hear You will cry like a baby and laugh like a hyena for no apparent reason and it's totally okay.
But it happens. And it's totally okay.
We ordered that chair just a few days later by phone. It arrived in early December, and we use it every night.