Compression and Release
New motherhood, WW3, cherry blossoms
Two months ago, I gave birth to a healthy baby girl. Since then I’ve only had one continuous night of sleep (not counting getting up to pump milk). Now it seems Michael and I have finally stabilized to sleeping about 8 hours split into 3-4 increments. The fatigue is brutal, but we know it will improve as our baby’s stomach capacity increases so that she can sleep for longer periods without having to feed or poop.
Pump. Feed. Burp. Diaper. Wash Bottles. Sleep. Repeat.
It’s repetitive yet urgent. What day is it? What time is it? Bedtime?
My mother-in-law stayed with us for the first couple weeks of April, so I took the opportunity to leave the house and meet my friend Ewa at MoMA for the R&D salon on Demolition. (When I first typed this, I accidentally spelled “Demotion.”) I attended a few salons prior to becoming pregnant and generally looked out for various design lectures, book releases, and openings across the city. One of my favorite things about NYC is the wealth of cultural programming. It is so easy to find an excuse to get together with friends and learn something new. I could never get bored.
This outing was my first prolonged venture outside of the house alone. I was late to the event because I had tried to squeeze in a last-minute pumping session before leaving and was led to the overflow room. Seated in front of a projector screen, I felt the familiar atmosphere of being in grad school. I had my little leather moleskine notebook and a 0.3mm tip ballpoint pen in my lap. As usual the salon started with Paola Antonelli presenting a sweep of references related to the theme of Demotion, I mean Demolition.
In the past I would rush to these evening lectures or openings after work. I would only make it about half the time and was often late. I actually have always been seated in the overflow room at MoMA salons; I’ve never arrived early enough for the main auditorium. Prior to becoming pregnant my life was very dense with productivity. I was always pursuing more knowledge. As I modeled or drew at work, I listened to Ana Miljacki’s podcast I would prefer not to or Dialogues: The David Zwirner Podcast. My thinking brain had to be turned on all the time.
Compression and release is a spatial technique of creating narrower transitional space and then dramatically releasing to a generous openness, often with natural light and high-ceilings. The maneuver is most popularly associated with Frank Lloyd Wright but has been deployed by many architects and predates the profession.
There is no greater compression and release than birth. Leading up to my due date, I often felt guilty. This baby didn’t ask to be born. It must be so scary to leave the warm, dark womb and be released into the world. At my 36-week checkup, my OB performed a size estimate based on ultrasound measurements. She informed me that my baby was large for gestational age, and thus her medical recommendation was to induce birth at 39 weeks. It would be easier for me. I had hoped for a spontaneous birth and did all sorts of exercises to try to get the baby to come out on her own. As I bounced on my exercise ball I thought, “I’m sorry. It’s time for you to be independent. You need to be a big girl.” I apologized for how America is a capitalist hellscape. I apologized for a world that justifies violence and war. She deserves better. I wondered if it was gentler to leave the baby inside me longer, until she decided it was time. My husband told me not to overthink what the baby might be feeling. “Worry about yourself.”
…
As I sat in the overflow room listening to different guest speakers share their research and perspectives on demolition, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of openness. Of course! The world is bigger than the frantic steps between the diaper changing station, bassinet, and bottle warmer. As artist and public historian Christopher Lopez showed images of arson used by landlords in Hoboken to illegally evict residents, I felt a familiar anxiety. How do I protect my baby from this cruel world? As curator Jody Graf showed stills from early Steven Spielberg film Batteries Not Included about a defiant group of tenants who refuse to move out to make way for property development and are aided by extraterrestrials, I laughed at the humor, the extensive efforts to construct a fiction. Storytelling is how we expand the imagination, how we might reach toward a more peaceful, equitable future…Or am I being naive?
Before Pearl was born, I thought babies only cried to communicate physiological needs. I have now learned that more than half the time Pearl cries, it’s because she wants attention. She wants to be held closer. She wants to be rocked. She wants to listen to me sing. She wants to stare into my eyes while feeding. Maslow’s hierarchy of needs collapses. Being held is just as important as being fed.
I delayed deciding on Pearl’s Chinese name as long as possible. I struggle to understand poetic meanings in Mandarin, and Chinese names are traditionally imbued with thoughtful intentions. My parents offered many suggestions, but either I didn’t like how some of these characters sounded phonetically or the meanings didn’t resonate. I am drawn to the character 樱 (ying) which means cherry. Visually, the wood/forest symbol on the left-hand side and the doubling of “preciousness” above the character for a woman feels right to me. The cherry is a stone fruit, soft on the outside and hard on the inside. The cherry is sweet but also tart. Its blossoms herald the arrival of spring, the season of Pearl’s birth. The fleeting bliss of pink petals reminds us to cherish the moment, but not to worry, beauty returns year after year.
🌸🌸🌸
Other notes:
I have so so so many thoughts but rarely have a chance to sit down and write them down. To my regular readers, thank you for sticking with me while my posting has been slow.
If you enjoyed reading, please share <3
Soon,
Michelle