Second Time Around

Where to begin? There are so many things this time that mirrored my last pregnancy/motherhood journey. I had the same excellent prenatal care. I had the same midwife and assistant help bring my son into the world in my same cozy home. Once again I had a giant belly, a giant boy, and a long labor. During labor I had my blessingway candle lit reminding me that I was not alone, like last time. I had my dogs remaining vigilant and serene as I became my most primal self and the wall between our worlds thinned for the second time during those transitional hours. And while so so much was the same, things were very different in the most essential ways.

My last labor and postpartum experience was a dark and difficult time for me. There was a lot of guilt and sorrow I had to work through. It was so difficult that I was not sure whether I ever wanted to be in that place again. Half of me was sincere when I said I was done having babies. I certainly wasn't ready to start over when we found out we were pregnant again. That was more of a shock than a surprise. I mean it took us more than a year of intentional trying to conceive, so how could we possibly be pregnant on accident with how little we actually had sexy time?!?! But here we were, unprepared and pregnant. 

This time around I was not nearly as attentive to the nugget in my womb. I chased my toddler around the house, juggled working full time and parenting my little tornado, was just beginning to be able to carve space out for myself to tend to my soul and spirit, and with only 24 hours in a day I just couldn't be as on top of things with this pregnancy as I was with my first. Things slipped through the cracks. I forgot to take supplements, I stopped tracking how much protein I was eating, I didn't have time to listen for that special song that would be ours: baby's and mine. The guilt I felt during postpartum with my first, I felt during the actual pregnancy with the second. I had to remind myself to actually tell the baby and, if I'm honest, myself that I did love the baby and that his life was cherished and desired, even if unplanned.

What taking a nap in the first trimester looks like with a toddler in the home

Everyone's promise to me was that this baby would be easier. Maybe it was said just to set my heart at ease and to quiet my fear, something I never really tried to hide. But whether on not that was the case, one thing was true- I was not the same person as last time. My tribe of friends and mamas reminded me of this. For as much as I suffered through my first experience, I was also changed by those experiences, refined by the fire of hard truths and inescapable realities: living with a baby is hard, and some babies are really really hard (read: my son). And so with much more healthy and realistic expectations I braced myself for the hell that I anticipated would come, all the while hoping the promises made to me would become my truth. 

I'm happy to say that, for the most part, those promises have come true. I was told that my labor would be shorter, especially after giving birth to such a large baby last time, that my body would be well prepared to push anything out quicker than last time. Well that was not the case. This second labor was in fact 7 hours longer, totaling 28 hours. Ugh! But somehow, it was easier. More on that in another post. But aside from that missed promise, my postpartum experience has indeed been easier. This baby has been easier. He's still a sparkler- apparently, the Divine must want me to prepare for some kind of weight lifting competition in the future since I keep getting practice with giant babies that MUST be carried/held at all times. But he is closer to what a typical newborn experience is. It is hard, being yelled at/cried at, getting little sleep, losing freedoms as you become chained to a tiny person thanks to your leaking boobs, but all this is still so much easier than last time. It really truly is, and I actually am happy, and so head-over-heels in love with this little man. Now, I get it, now I understand what all the fuss is about, why women ache to have a baby, the smell, the cuddles, the staring and staring at a cherub-like face- moonstruck...I get it. 

My sweet little cherub, he makes me so happy

This experience has redeemed those terrible days of my last experience. For all the ways that the two stories mirror each other, they are different in the most important ways. Where there was darkness, now there is light. Isn't that how love works?

Thank you little Bear for choosing me to be your mama, and for letting me love and care for you. This is my favorite job EVER! You are the Best. Surprise. Ever.

XOXO

Postpartum Body

So I gained 50lbs during my pregnancy. Yes you read that right. My 5' and 105lbs body gained 50lbs in 40 weeks. Some doctors might have warned me to avoid gaining so much weight but my midwife never worried. She knew I was keeping a healthy diet, I was active at work and practicing yoga at home. She also knew I was married to a Viking and thus was baking a Viking-sized baby. There wasn't anything to worry about, she and I believe that (in most cases) the woman's body will be able to birth the baby it makes, no matter how big he may be. And so, my belly stretched to ridiculous proportions, but all that weight stayed focused in my mid-section. And when my son made his entrance into this world, he left behind his big, comfy home.

It took me by surprise how deeply I grieved the loss of my body. Pre-pregnancy I spent way too much time criticizing the minor imperfections, when I should have been living it up! Wearing a bikini at every possible opportunity. At times I think I may have even resented my baby for "ruining" me, as I write this now I realize how terrible it sounds, but it was my truth at that time. A dear friend comforted me, reminding me that most women fluctuate in their size, and with each new size they have to learn to love their new body. This was something that I had never had to do, and I was not doing it well.

When my son left my body he left behind all that stretched out skin used to protect his home inside me. There is nothing I can do about that skin, short of surgery. I am already back to my pre-pregnancy size, in fact I am even smaller, but on my stomach there still remains a flab of empty skin (not to mention the plethora of scars). It has been a SLOOOOOOOW process learning to accept this new skin, but believe it or not, I am much more comfortable in my body now than I ever was pre-pregnancy. Pre-pregnancy, I wasted time scrutinizing the imagined imperfections in my body, trying to meet some ridiculous and unrealistic standard meant to objectify me. Post-pregnancy I have learned to see the body in a more functional way and I marvel at its beauty.

The body is truly one of God's greatest masterpieces, and all the variety and designs we are blessed to manifest that handiwork. My pear-shaped body with its strong legs and short height are delicately designed to carry the weight of my son as he climbs up in my arms. Beauty. My small breasts are bountiful enough to nourish my growing toddler. Beauty. My small hands fit perfectly into my husband's large and protective hands. Beauty. My eyes can look up to the moon as my arms cradle my son and my legs spin us under its moonlight. Glory. We are all wonders. And our bodies reflect just a sliver of the beauty we manifest through these vessels.

This body, my body, is beautiful. I understand it better now that it has been "ruined" by love and light. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go find my mom-jeans, because those are seriously comfortable, and I finally get it!

PS: This video was a huge help to me on this journey. I hope it blesses you as it did me.

Let's just get this over with

My last post ended on a bit of a somber note. Before I explain, let me first make it clear that I LOVE LOVE LOVE my son so so so much. Parenthood may not be for everyone, and I respect and applaud those who have recognized that it might not be for them and have decided not to pursue it. This gig isn't for the faint of heart. I am daily in awe that I was allowed to journey this road and with such a precious companion. I am so grateful to be a mother (my heart breaks for those who seek this and are denied it), and humbled that I have been entrusted such a priceless gem. I love him more than I expected, more than I knew I could love at all.

Now with that said, I am ashamed to admit that I had a hard time feeling this way when I first met Little. I held him, fed him, and cared for him as any responsible parent would, but I didn't feel love. In fact I felt regret. I often joked about this with others, but it was, unfortunately, all very true. I hate myself for having had those feelings. I don't know if I can ever forgive myself. I had honestly wished I had never gotten pregnant and given birth. Before me was a stranger that screamed at me all day long (the colic drama to come later), ripped up my nipples, refused to be put down causing incredible pain in my arm and back muscles (did I mention he was nearly 10 lbs???), refused all the comforts offered him (swaddles, pacifier, crib, car rides, etc.), and basically was just "take take take" with not a smidge of "give," not even a smile or an hour of silence so weak mom could rest.

Most of that is pretty normal for parents of newborns, but I had the added insult of postpartum depression. My hormones were so out of balance. That coupled with the lack of sleep and I was basically a zombie. I felt empty inside, hopeless. I wanted to run away. Leave the baby and my husband behind. They seemed content with each other after all, they would be fine. But I was drowning. I couldn't breathe and I just wanted out. I knew then that these were horrible feelings to be having so now I had guilt to add to my depression.

My mom also had struggled with postpartum depression, so she could tell immediately that I had it. She stayed with us for that tiresome, first week and witnessed my emotional madness as I would swing from anger and rage over the silliest things to fits of tears as I gazed at my screaming son. When she left we all cried. She told my husband to keep an eye on me, and tried to encourage him, because now he had the burden of taking care of our colic-y babe and me. In this story my husband is the hero. He is my hero. He is my son's hero. He is the this small family's hero. His perseverance and enormous heart rescued me, and sheltered my son. I praise god greatly for putting him on earth so he could fulfill this crucial role.

So many people surrounded me during this dark time, friends, family, strangers, childhood friends. They may never know how deep and profound their time affected me. The simplest phone call, or visit did wonders to lift my spirit, to remind me that I was still me. I put all my energy in making my outward appearance look as strong as possible. I was ashamed of my own thoughts and I did not want others to witness them. But I was not well, even if I looked it, and your time had a powerful impact, even if you thought it was not necessary, to me it was.

After about 13 weeks, I finally started to feel like myself again. Well not exactly. Nothing has ever been exactly the same, and it could never be, because now I am a mother, forged in the fire of trial and despair, but I came through, I survived, and I bear the the scars of that darkness both physically and emotionally.

I have this picture as my background on my phone. It isn't the cutest picture of my son. And it certainly isn't the most recent. But it is from that dark time. He was only a couple of days old. I look at it and speak to that tiny baby. I tell him how sorry I am for those first 13 weeks. I look at it and hope that my darkness did not leave scars on his spirit. I look at it and tell that baby "I love you" because I wasn't able to when he was actually  that small. I don't know how long I will keep this picture up, reminding me of that time and my terrible weakness. But for now I keep it there. I am not ready to forgive myself yet, but I am getting there.