Anya and Teo are 7 weeks old today, and those first foggy days postpartum are only now coming into hazy relief. Going in, I’d feared postpartum depression; having had a few run-ins with that dark night before, I was all too aware of the risks. Thankfully, depression hasn’t hit. But my mind played some serious tricks on me those first weeks with the babies here at home.

My mind—anxious—obsessed. As in, when not attentively focused elsewhere (diaper, nurse repeat), my mind would wander into spin cycle, grasping over and over again a singular script. You’ll laugh when you hear it. The script went like this: I pretended I was Sarah Jessica Parker. Or rather, I wished I were.

SJP you say? Yes, that’s right. SJP became the object of my relentless postpartum mental gaze because SJP—a soon-to-be Brooklyn neighbor who had recently had twins herself via surrogate—was waited on, I was certain, hand and foot. Nursing at 3am and craving cinnamon toast and fresh orange slices, for example, I’d think: “Sarah Jessica’s cook would be bringing her cinnamon toast and oranges right about now.” And so on. It was the fantasy of the new mother who rather wanted to be cared for herself, and it just didn’t let up.

Until, that is, my hormonally crazed postpartum mind found a new object to twist itself around like a weed: spiders. I’d been up late one night after the hospital watching a National Geographic Special on newborn behavior in the animal kingdom. The program featured a breed of spider for which offsprings’ arrival signaled the mother’s death. Baby spiders hatch, so it’s not like the mother spider died in childbirth; rather, once the voracious offspring hatched, the tiny multi-legged carnivores would feed on the mother’s body, destroying her along the way. I watched, spellbound, repulsed, as she let it happen. It was nature taking its course. And while nursing, I just couldn’t let it go. It was the fantasy of the nursing mother who feared she might disappear.

My obsession with the baby spiders slowly gave way to one more—a fixation that is with me still and one I hope will not go away (unlike the others, which, thankfully, did!). This last postpartum fixation had to do with Marco, and our work/life arrangement, which is in flux. Following the mind meld with SJP and the fixation on the spiders, I became obsessed with the notion of Marco as a stay-at-home-dad. It’s one of many arrangements we are trying on, but in my mind, it stuck like glue. It’s the working mother’s fantasy, and it’s one that many couples have, of course, made real.

I never got my cinnamon toast exactly, though Marco makes me waffles, which do the trick; I no longer worry that I am that mother spider (phew!). But I do still dream about Marco, pictured here reading Michael Chabon’s Manhood for Amateurs with Teo strapped to his chest, being a primary caregiver. Postpartum blur, or potential solution? We shall see. In the meantime, we’re both enjoying these babies, and being home with them, so very much!