Droughts
BY DEBORAH PRITCHETT
Photo Courtesy: Deborah Pritchett
This summer, my Texan plains went sixty-seven days without rain. Apparently it’s the second longest streak in Dallas Fort Worth’s history.
Rain or shine may not be a big deal for some folks, but rain steadies me. I grew up in the Pacific Northwest completely immersed in it, and whenever I get to smell it, and see tiny rainbow reflections in the puddles on the roads, I feel like I’m home again. I feel at peace.
I discovered this past spring that I have the skin condition rosacea, or as I heard it lovingly called by an online dermatologist, “the curse of the Celts.” Basically, my face freaks out in the humid heat. I laughed at this dermatologist writing about his own rosacea when he said, “People as white as me weren’t meant to grow up in sunny South Texas. Mother Nature assigned us to Northern Europe.” I feel this deep in my soul.
But truly. There is a deep connection that I feel to the earth when the ground underneath me is sloshy and the skies above me are overcast. My senses feel sharper, I feel calmer, and the world just feels better. It honestly felt appropriate learning that my face has an adverse reaction to extreme heat. Maybe it’s mimicking my heart.
That sixty-seven-day dry spell happened during the first two months of my daughter Jojo’s life. I knew that June and July would be especially trying times this year, because since she’s my second I know that newborn days are not for the faint of heart. And neither is the Texas heat.
It’s funny, you learn how to be a mother with your first, but then you have another baby and still have to relearn so many things. I had hoped, for example, that breastfeeding would be a breeze this time around because I’d done it before. What I forgot, though, was that this baby was a breastfeeding virgin, and nursing is a two-player sport.
Some things did get easier, like changing diapers, for example. I wasn’t as afraid of her jerky baby legs as I was of her sisters, but the crying was just as difficult to deal with as the first time around. Have I mentioned that I love rain? Well, I also love silence. Maybe instead of a mother I should’ve been a monk? And somewhere rainy. Oh well.
On my birthday, my husband Derek and I were in the car with both girls and Jojo was screaming at impressively high decibels. At a red light while the car was stopped (which, if there’s anything Jojo hates more than being in the car, it’s being in the car while it’s stopped), Derek said, as if it had just occurred to him, “I don’t think the newborn stage is my favorite.” All I could do was laugh.
I don’t know why this is so specific, but something about those high-decibel newborn screams make me want to rip all of my hair out, chunk by chunk. This summer, those specific screams almost always reached a climax around 7:30 p.m. Derek took Jojo for many walks around that time. The temps had usually cooled down to a crisp 100 degrees by then (he’s a really good guy).
The hardest part of the newborn phase for me isn’t just the screaming, though. It’s the lack of ability to communicate with the baby. Newborns are also communication virgins. Sure, they instinctively know how to cry when they’re hungry or uncomfy, but that’s about it. No joy is ever really apparent. That’s why the first smiles are so special. When the smiling finally starts, I feel like I could have twelve babies. Who cares about my pelvic floor when I can make these little nuggets?! The first smiles aren’t just overwhelmingly cute, they’re also a symbol of hope: this fussy baby is capable of happiness!
During the afternoon on August 10, I put my two-year-old down for a nap and put on “Dan in Real Life” for an annual re-watch in anticipation of fall. I love this film partially because of its overcast setting. I was somewhere between Dan and Marie meeting at the bookstore and the “Ruthie pig-face Draper” scene when I smelled it. I was sitting in my room which has blackout curtains over the windows, so I couldn’t see it, but I’m telling you, I felt it: my senses sharpening, my skin relaxing, my world stilling. Finally, rain.
Texas weather isn’t like the northwest where you can count on consistent sprinkles falling from the sky. Here, it’s dry for weeks, or in this case months, and then suddenly unbelievable amounts of precipitation pour down all at once. The wait feels unbearably long, but the reward is extraordinary.
I realized this summer that the feelings I have about newborn seasons in many ways parallel what I feel during droughts. They’re difficult for me. My favorite moments during the year and during infancy come later, but babies don’t come out giggly, and you can’t skip summer. I know the seasons ahead will be so rewarding, but the present wait is so tiring.
I guess this is the part of this story where I should say that I learned how to dance during the drought or whatever, but that would be a lie. The newborn summer days were really hard. My two-year-old saw me lose it a few times, which I hated, and I cried more than I like to. I didn’t come out of the summer feeling like a first-class mother, but I did get through it.
I got through a sixty-seven-day drought that also happened to be sixty-seven of the first days with baby Jojo who, precious as she is, wasn’t always easy to console (or to get much sleep around). I came out of the season so burned out, but I lasted. My endurance grew more than I thought it would be able to, and I’m stronger today because of it.
On that beloved, rainy August day, I captured one of Jojo’s first smiles with my iPhone camera. The weather and my new baby impacted my soul significantly this summer. It wasn’t an easy season with either, but the next season came around like it always does. I’m so grateful for drought-defeating rain and for weather that nourishes my soul, and I’m even more grateful for that little nose-crinkly smile.
DEBORAH PRITCHETT is a stay-at-home mom who lives in the Dallas/Fort Worth metroplex. She has a daughter, Penelope, is married to a really cool guy named Derek, and is expecting another baby girl this Spring. She entered motherhood at a young age, one month before a global pandemic shocked the world. Now, two years into mothering, those circumstances are still defining her unique parenting experiences and inspiring much of her writing.