1m2aSandbox

I’m not one of those mommies prone
to sitting around with other post-partum women and moaning about
baby weight; I’ve got enough stress as it is, and
there’s nearly always an element of competitiveness about
those conversations, either of the “I’m losing faster
than you” or “I’m more miserable than you”
genre.


At the same time, I know it’s something that’s
important to talk about, since celebrities paint a picture (thank
you, Heidi Klum) of instantaneous weight loss and firming, and if
we mommies don’t talk about it together we’ll all sit
there thinking we’re the only mom who is having a hard time
finding her old thighs again.

The second time around with pregnancy, you
think you’re prepared. You know what’s going to happen
afterwards – the fact that you’ll still look six months
pregnant even after the kid comes out, the fact that your ankles
will still be swollen a couple days later. You have a good idea of
how long it’ll take you to lose that post-partum weight, and
have already vowed not to cry when you’re wearing your
“fat pants” still four months later (I type as I eat a
Newman's Own Ginger-O's. Hey, they're organic!).


All of this experience and knowledge is a good thing, but
let’s face it – we still freak out. And for me,
it’s all about the hair.

Since Madeleine was a c-section, the whole vaginal-birth-and-recovery thing was totally new to me. And just as I mentioned in a recent labor blog, I definitely learned a few new things:

(Please note – this is the fourth in a four-part series on c-sections. If you’ve missed out, please read Deciding On A C-Section  Having A C-Section  and Recovering From A C-Section to catch up.)

It’s time to leave the hospital and head out into the world: just you, your husband, your new baby, and a neat incision.

The staff will talk through a sheet of instructions for you that you’ll only half hear because it’s dawning on you that you’re leaving the safe womb of the hospital and its 24/7 room service and care. You’ll set up a 2-week appointment to visit your OB and check on your scar’s healing, either before you leave or soon after you get home. You will –with great foresight – insist that your husband fill your Tylenol with codeine prescription before you leave the hospital, so there’s no lag time in your doses. You will take a Tylenol-codeine soon before you leave. Your doctor will instruct you to spend the next two weeks holding nothing heavier than the baby.

Ten minutes later, if you’re anything like me, you’ll pick up your baby.

In her car seat.

Let’s just say that’s a mistake and move on.

Being a mommy is one of the toughest jobs in the world, and while it has
numerous intangible perks let’s face it; the benefits package sucks. No
medical, no paid vacation, and no workers’ compensation if you get
injured on the job.

So we’ve been talking the past few days about how to take better care of
yourself. It starts during
pregnancy of course, but we’ve also looked at ways to make your
movements more
efficient (that is, healthier!) while you take care of your
little one. But there’s more to it than that.

Making sure your bio-mechanics – the way your body does something – is
not enough. You need to stay on top of your body’s physical health if
it’s going to perform effectively when called upon. This means
strengthening, and stretching, and eating right.

Josh, my girlfriend Abby’s newest babe, has officially hit two weeks old, and while Abby seems to have gotten off remarkably easy emotion-wise – no real heavy post-partum blues – she is definitely experiencing post- post-partum-doula blues.

Because Madeleine was breech (despite my trying everything, from lying upside down to chiropractic help to acupuncture), I had a scheduled c-section.  As we talked over the procedure in my doctor’s office the day before, my husband Brian, who had been reading up on the procedure, asked my doctor what method she used to close the incision.  She paused, laughed, then said, “That depends.  Are you paid up?”

Ok, I’m going to tell the truth here, and if I get angry emails in response, so be it.

A girlfriend who doesn’t have children asked me today at church what has surprised me most about motherhood.  I thought for a moment, and answered honestly, “How much work it would be to love her sometimes.  Love is an active verb here, something I do, rather than a noun, something that exists on its own.  I didn’t know how hard it can be to continue loving someone and giving endlessly of yourself when she gives nothing in return.  She doesn’t smile at me, she doesn’t say, ‘Thanks, mom’, she doesn’t slip a greeting card shyly under my pillow.  She simply rolls over and goes back to sleep.  And when you come to her in the middle of the night and she’s crying, she doesn’t see you and suddenly stop crying, remembering that you’ve done this before and trusting that food is on the way.  No, she keeps screaming until food is in her mouth.  And she couldn't care less who’s giving it to her.  Unrequited love is tough to maintain.

I don’t think that was the answer she was expecting, but it’s the one I’ve got.

It’s official.  We have a baby!

A copy of Madeleine’s birth announcement came in the mail.  Seeing her name in print made everything seem so, I don’t know, unchangeable.  As if we’d only borrowed a baby for a while to play at the parenting thing, but now that we’ve announced it to the world, we’re in this for the long haul, no exchanges, no refunds.  Not that I want to exchange her; but I imagine that now that we’ve announced it, I’ve gone from some hip chick with a baby to a mommy.  Does that make any sense?  A sort of reference point shift for my identity.  I’ve been looking at this whole thing as if she’s my daughter, and now suddenly I’m her mother.

Hormones suck.

Let’s talk for a sec about what I’d like to call the big breastfeeding lie:  “Breastfeeding shouldn’t hurt!”  I’m not afraid to admit it; I’m ten days into this thing and my nipples are killing me!!!!  And before you all start typing your replies, sending me advice about having an expert observe me and it’s probably Madeleine’s latching, let me just tell you that I’ve been observed by the hospital staff, my OB, Madeleine’s pediatrician, a consultant, and a fellow mother, all of whom tell me Madeleine’s a pro at this and we’re doing everything right.  But I’ve got blood blisters on each side, and it hurts almost unbearably each time she latches on and starts to eat.

Home yesterday from the hospital with Madeleine Lucy.  I learned the hard way that when my doctor said, “Don’t lift anything bigger than your baby," the car seat didn’t count as “baby."  I almost died picking her up out of the car.  My mom had the house spotless, clean sink in the kitchen and fresh linens on our beds awaiting our return; those little touches only your mom thinks of that make such a difference.  I can’t believe our little family has grown from two to three.  I’m supposed to be the mommy now; the one with all the answers.  I have no idea what I’m doing.  How long do you think it will take everyone to figure that out?  I look at her squirming obliviously on the changing table; am I supposed to talk to her?  Sing to her?  Tell jokes?  Politely ignore her nakedness?  I thought maybe the mommy instinct would just magically come in, like my milk supply.  Maybe it's on its way.