On Parenthood, An Inedible Turkey, and Adaptability

I imagine most new parents have a moment where they realize that they cannot keep up the same routines as their pre-parent life. Friday is the 11 year anniversary of that moment for me. But the story starts 11 years ago today, on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving.

Wednesday

Between feedings of my colicky 4 month old, and in the depths of not-yet-acknowledged postpartum depression, I prepped a carefully selected heritage turkey and set it into a pot of salt water brine, fresh herbs, and juniper berries.

I put the pot in the fridge and put the baby down for a nap. While he napped I trimmed veggies & prepped what I could, knowing the next day would be tricky- managing all the Thanksgiving dishes, the demands of an infant, and the debilitating repetitive stress injury in my wrist.

The wrist injury was de Quervain's tenosynovitis. De Quervain’s is a repetitive stress injury, so common to new moms that it’s often referred to as “mommy thumb.” It is triggered by post-pregnancy hormone fluctuations and the repetitive motion of lifting and carrying a baby. In addition to de Quervain’s, I also was 4 months in to new parent sleep deprivation, and was still recovering from a c-section, including stitches that had ripped when I tripped a week after the surgery.

BUT! I love to cook, and host people, and feed people. The challenges of parenthood were not going to get in the way of me living my life. I was hosting Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving came. My son woke up with a 104 degree fever. This wasn't the first time- he had also had a high fever at 1 month old- so we knew the drill. We went straight to the ER. On the way there, I called our families to tell them dinner might be a bit late because I couldn't put the turkey in until we got back from the hospital. Clearly, I was delusional, thinking we'd cook and host guests after we got home from the ER.

As my son got treatment at the ER, and my worry for him started to relax, I came into my own body, and realized I could no longer move my wrist without severe pain. I left baby and husband in the ER and walked myself across the street to the ICU. The ICU doctor who saw me did not believe me about the severity of my injury. He told me to go home, and put my hand in ice water for 10 minutes every 4 hours, and check back in a month. (LOL- imagine integrating that icing schedule with caring for an infant!) I agreed, too exhausted to push back. I left the ICU in the same, painful state I had entered in, too naive to understand I had to advocate for myself.

I went back to the ER, where I nursed my son then crumbled to pieces, overwhelmed at everything. My husband gave me the words I needed to advocate for myself and I went back to the ICU. I saw a different doctor this time, and they gave me a cortisone shot. Meanwhile, fever lowered, my son was released from the ER.

We are all free to go home! Still delusional, I am excited to have Thanksgiving! I then realize it's nearly 2PM, and my husband and I haven't eaten all day. Of course everything is closed, so I grab us a "lunch" of Red Vines and Cheetos from the sparsely stocked vending machines in the ICU.

My husband picks me up from the ICU and we eat our snacks in the car, with a tired and crying baby in the back seat. We call our parents again, and let them know there's no way we’ll have dinner ready at a reasonable hour. I suggest they come tomorrow instead.

We go home and collapse. I briefly wonder if I should take the turkey out of the brine but figure "what could it hurt to stay in the brine another night?"

Friday

Friday, still exhausted, still delusional, and with a sick but recovering infant, I set out to make a full turkey dinner, one day late. I reassure our families that "everything is fine" and they should come over. I take the turkey out of the salt brine it's been in for 48 hours.

My wrist is feeling much better, cooking is easy, and it's a relief to do something that brings me joy. But then, hours later, I taste the gravy, and it is so salty that it's inedible. Since it's made from the juices of the turkey, this does not bode well. But I soldier on.

Me and Pax, November 2010

I nurse the baby, set the table, pull dishes from the oven. Everything looks perfect.

Our families arrive. We sit down to eat. The turkey is indelibly salty. So is the stuffing from the cavity of the turkey. So is the gravy, despite my heroic efforts to dilute its saltiness.

So we eat green beans, sweet potato casserole, rolls, and mashed potatoes without gravy. Everyone is nice and tries to eat the turkey. But it's awful. Everyone takes turns rocking the fussy baby. We eat a lot of pie because we're all still hungry.

And then, finally, I realize that parenthood does not mean adding a baby to your pre-kid life. Family life is a whole new life- one that requires more adaptability, advocacy, support, and love. It's a lesson I'll learn over and over. One I still learn regularly now.

Families come in so many different shapes, sizes and varieties. Happy Thanksgiving to you and your family, whatever shape it may take. May your day be full of adaptability, advocacy, support, and love.