Trapped

Sometimes the metaphors in life are just so obvious. Yesterday's proves too irresistible for me to pass over: I woke up to find that my driveway was partially washed out, my road was nearly impassable and the bridge at the bottom of our hill was completely gone—just a big round culvert sitting in the middle of a raging river. (Well, it's actually a brook, but that doesn't really evoke the kind of water that took out our bridge…so, I'm calling it a river.)

As if being married and having a new baby hasn't made me feel trapped enough at times, yesterday the isolation was physical and it was real. For months I've been describing my experience as a new parent as being much like house arrest, and yesterday we literally could not leave.

We live on a U-shaped road, our house is on the little stretch connecting the two primary roads. Here in Vermont, "primary" is still dirt, but it's dirt that is maintained by the town. From the end of our driveway, the road was washed out in both directions, and bridges in both directions were washed out as well. We called school and arranged for subs; we weren't going to make it in. We spent the day bonding with our other trapped neighbors, the two Richards who live on either side of the road down below. Other neighbors from the far side of the bridge came up to see it. They waved to us from their freedom, yelled friendly jokes about sending in supplies, and made real offers of help if we were in need.

I don't think stir-craziness is technically a need. At least not in its early stages. But, by the end of the day, when Sam and I were snapping at each other and I was making what felt like astute observations about the inevitable demise of our marriage if we remain incapable of carrying into our day-to-day lives the romance and relaxation of our vacation days, well, by then we were close to calling in the troops for a rescue.

It rained more last night, and more this morning. Sam was getting ready to leave for school and I didn't technically have to be there until midday, but as the rain kept coming and the notion of being trapped on our hill started to sink in—trapped in our muddy yard, in our small house with our ever-growing baby—I panicked, threw a bunch of stuff in bags and ran out with him. I didn't really have anywhere to go, but I knew I needed to get out. I didn't even really care if I could ever get back up again.

One day soon after we finished building our house, and not long after our wedding, I was home alone, sitting in the living room admiring all of the beautiful details. It was then that I first started thinking about writing again. I imagined a first chapter title for a memoir: "I Built My Own Beautiful Prison." Today I would add chapter two: "I Gave Birth to My Jailer."

I love the house, and the kid. But some days, I really miss my old life. I miss waking up when I wake up. I miss spending my first hour of being awake tending exclusively to my own needs: coffee, quiet, sunshine on the back deck, a long shower. I miss coming and going as I please. I miss being in the car alone. I miss being spontaneous about going for a run, walking the dogs, going out for a beer or a movie. I miss having energy. You get the idea…I miss my free and independent former self.

Lately, the switch that gets flipped in my brain is when Sam says something like, "I'm going to go out and start the tractor," or "I'm going to go take a shower." I get so angry with him for not asking me if it's okay to do these things, not because he should have to ask me, but because I feel like I have to ask him (one of us has to be with the kid, right?). And if I feel this constant nagging sense of responsibility, well, he should feel it too. And it's a sucky way to feel, so I'm definitely not going to be the only one feeling it, "you feel me?" (Have you watched The Wire on HBO? You must.)

Of course, yesterday, when he said he was going out to start the tractor, which I needed him to do so he could redirect some of the rushing water and prevent what remained of our driveway from washing into the woods…well, that wasn't really a good time to have the discussion with him about how the success or failure of this team effort largely depends on his choice of words. I wasn't the only one trapped on this hill after all. Sam has used the word "claustrophobic" more than once in the past twenty-four hours.

Today was a better day for that discussion. It was better because we weren't trapped here on the hill, so we felt a little tiny bit less trapped in our lives. I got mad at him for going to the dining hall to get lunch while I gave Quinn her bottle in my office. Not because going to get lunch is a bad thing, but because I wanted to be the one going to get lunch. And once I made that known, Sam happily took Quinn, propped her up to play with some rolled up ace bandages from his bag of lacrosse gear, and he freed me to go get my lunch.

Some hours later, after dropping Quinn off with her babysitter, teaching our classes, attending an all-school community meeting, meeting with our advisees, picking Quinn up from her babysitter and doing the grocery shopping, we made it home. The guy in the excavator was still working on the bridge. We drove over it and up the hill. More of the road had eroded, but there was still enough there that we could sneak alongside the chasm and make it to the house. The pile of snow under the roofline on the north side of our house was still there, but it was smaller than it had been this morning. The tips of the plants coming up in the garden looked just a little bit higher. I carried my school bag, Sam's school bag, Quinn's diaper bag, and Quinn's toy bag in the house. Sam carried Quinn and a bag of groceries. We got through the door, set things down and exhaled. Sam put his arm around my waist. "We made it through the day," he said and smiled. I did one of those laugh/cry things and made a point to say that if our marriage is going to succeed, it will likely do so because he manages to hold me together on the days I start to fall apart.

I hear all those voices in my head reassuring me, "It is SO worth it...Enjoy every minute because it goes by so fast"! Yadda yadda yadda…whatever people! It's a lot of work and somedays I look forward to time going by just a little bit faster.

In the meantime, I'll try to keep finding the humor in it as best as possible. On vacation last week, we took turns being under house arrest for the afternoon nap. One day I stayed at the house while Sam went to the beach, the next day we switched. On the day I stayed, Sam came back to check on me, and Quinn was being her stubborn self, refusing to fall asleep. He knew I was frustrated, stuck indoors on a beautiful day, the ocean within earshot. I insisted he go back to the beach, so at least one of us could enjoy it. An hour later, I gave up. As I picked up the canvas tote bag and prepared to fill it with all the requisite baby crap, I realized: I bet Quinn fits in this bag. Sure enough, she did. I sat her in the bag, pulled it up around her and fit the straps over my shoulder. I looked in to be sure she could breathe; she actually seemed content, curled up kind of cozily, examining her hands as if they were some new and wonderful object. I walked to the beach with her in the bag. I found Sam and he looked up. "Are we missing someone?" he asked. (I was impressed he noticed.)

"I got so fed up with her I just strapped her in her carseat and locked the door."

"Okay; I'll go get her," he said calmly. (His lack of alarm was a bit less impressive.)

When I leaned over so he could see in the bag, the look of surprise made my previous sense of imprisonment disappear. Sometimes I truly crack myself up. And thank god, because sometimes that's literally all I can do…on the good days that is, all I can do is laugh at the absurdity. That and hope the rain stops.