Much of motherhood is very much about intuition.  Intuition is about as subtle as a fading tan in September.  You look at your child and simply KNOW what their current expression is all about.  Same goes for their squirming and head turns and mini yelps when you leave the room.

Intuition is reading between the lines; understanding the unsaid and what most cannot see.

Prior to Isaiah’s birth, I lived my life very much in the intuitive world.  I “felt” more than planned.  If a free Saturday rolled around, I would mentally make a list of my “Hope To Do” list.  While others simply make a To Do list, my list was always open to variation.  For example, I would plan on 1. grocery store shopping  2.  laundry   3.  calling a family member

But, if life just happened to throw me a curve ball and, I unexpectedly find a gorgeous 60 degree day sunning into my room in February or a friend calls, squealing details of her latest beau into the receiver, I adjust my Hope To Do List to accommodate other activities.  I adapt.

Which is why it’s very difficult for me to stick to a plan.  What if something better comes along that needs attention?  What if my feelings change about what needs to get done?

None of this was a problem until I met Nick.

Nick L-O-V-E-S to know what I am planning on doing with my day,  “so I can make sure you accomplish the things you need done,” he figures.  Nick’s a planner.  He’s one of those people who was, like, BORN with a small clock radio in their heads.  Even without a watch, he knows whether he’s on time or running late.

Now that Isaiah is here, my intuition and “feeling my way” through a day is limited.  Nick and I need to be in sync.  Not just for Isaiah, but for our own personal sanity.  Who takes care of Isaiah and for how long determines who gets to go for a long run in the morning or who gets to lounge and read in the backyard.  Planning for Isaiah’s welfare isn’t just about Isaiah’s welfare.  How symbiotic our relationship is translates into a lifeline for our own individual equilibrium.

More and more, I am beginning to understand how absolutely critical it is to communicate clearly about what you want.  There are countless studies that report that new mothers postpartum are more susceptible to mental health struggles and illness because of stress and anxiety.  The culprit is multitasking under hard conditions.  New mothers feel all the domestic responsibilities fall on their shoulders.  New mothers put baby, spouse, community, and family before themselves.  Time, like a pie, is cut into pieces.  The largest pieces often go to caretaking and making sure OTHERS are ok.  New mothers rarely take time for themselves.

But, I noticed, much of those reports (sorry, I can’t find links directly to them) associate this overwhelming stress with women who are unable to delegate responsibilities, or, women who cannot simply ASK their partners to do more.  I can’t help but think that the traditional roles of women, motherhood, and caretaking impress upon us precisely when we are most vulnerable: sleep deprived, borderline neurotic with worry, and physically exhausted.

I don’t pretend that my life or marriage is perfect.  Far from it.  But Nick and I work tremendously hard at communicating with one another and keeping the other balanced and reasonably happy.  It can’t be a euphoric party every night, but I think we both realize that the happier we are as individuals, the better spouses we are and more loving parents we are to our son.  I encourage women I encounter to become, if nothing else, a better communicator with their families.  To effectively communicate what one needs isn’t about laziness or complaining – it’s about being a better parent and sharing the workload in a manner that demonstrates respect and self-dignity, love and compromise, and evenness.  This balance isn’t always struck, but the efforts to do so pays off in dividends.

Isaiah forces me to say what I need because if I fail to communicate effectively, I end up taking on more than what I can realistically do, and when I fail, slip into a dark corner of self-punishment.  Isaiah, and certainly Nick, can do without that.  I can do without that.

The intuitive parts of my day have quieted into a more determined planner.  This transformation was necessary, critical even, to my development as a parent.  I can’t “hope to do” anything, I must put Isaiah’s needs first and then assess how much time is left in the slithered pie crusts.  With those hours (minutes, really), I am able to breathe and hope that I get in a long hot shower or a ranting post like this.

Our children need to see us happy, attentive, and loving.  Working to make ourselves mentally and emotionally sound so we are 100% present to our children is the most radical act parents can do these days.