This post is going to be a jumble of thoughts and feelings. It's messy, but that's a true reflection of my state of being at the moment.
Trigger/content warnings for discussion and images of childbirth and the immediate postpartum period.
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It thrills and amazes me to be able to say that my daughter is four weeks old today. Phil and I are currently suspended in the throes of these precious early weeks, too euphoric with adoration to care about the total exhaustion that comes with it. All we really know or care about right now is that we are in love and that we love our children and if there's an outside world, we don't need it.
What was a stressful and difficult pregnancy is now just a warm chapter of my life that I can look back on fondly, without missing it. Happily, I was rewarded with an easy (relatively speaking, of course) and joyous labour that produced the most amazing little girl. I had been having mild contractions from about 36 weeks. When I went to see my OB/GYN for my 39 week appointment on the Tuesday, I was already 3 centimetres dilated and 80% effaced. By Thursday, two days later, I went into labour in earnest by 09:30 and at 17:15 Lyla was born. I teased my OB, telling him he should be happy that I gave him a perfect 9-5 working day. He laughed and thanked me for making him look good, saying I was invited back. Alas, my child-bearing days are over now, ending on a high note.
Phil cutting the umbilical cord.
There are no words to describe how this feels.
I can't fault the care I was given. Leaving my incredible midwife in London was heartbreaking for me. She restored my confidence in myself after the turbulent birth experience I'd had with my son. We developed a strong bond and I see her more like the big sister I never had. She continued to support me from afar once I left for America, which helped my transition into the maternity care system in California. Fortune was on my side, and I was delivered into the very capable hands of the OB/GYN who had been my doctor from my late teens up until I moved to the UK. He saw me safely through the perilous waters of late pregnancy and childbirth while I was already going through intense personal trauma having to do with my travels back to the US, and I couldn't be more grateful.
Being assessed by a paediatric RN under what my dad calls the 'french fry warmer.'
After one night on the postnatal ward, we went home as a new family of four. I was a bit sore seeing as I'd torn a bit during delivery, but otherwise felt good, all in one piece. Blessedly, Lyla has been a mellow baby from the get-go. She only cries and fusses if she's tired, hungry, or uncomfortable. This is in striking contrast to her big brother, who slept minimally and screamed the house down if I even dared to consider sending him off for a nap. So Phil and I have felt pretty darned good, considering we aren't getting more than a couple of hours' sleep at a time. We are sleep deprived, but relaxed. One can't ask for more, really.
Look at how outrageously cute she is. Have you ever seen such a round wee face?
Pretty much everything has been easier this time, so far (touch wood), including breastfeeding. I had a breast reduction when I was 18, so I don't quite make a full supply of milk. However, I'm managing to boob her a good amount of the time, which is a massive relief. I hardly had any professional support after I had Ronen and struggled to breastfeed him for more than two weeks. The day after I had Lyla I asked for a visit from the hospital's lactation consultant, which wasn't brilliant, but paired with my previous experience it did the trick.
My belly one week postpartum. Behold a sacred vessel.
Physically, I'm finding recovery more difficult after baby number two. Firstly, SPD made it impossible for me to exercise the way I did during my pregnancy with Ronen. As as result, I gained a ton of weight and my fitness levels took a nosedive. Reconditioning my body so I have the strength to manage two children will be a priority for me once my OB/GYN gives me permission to start being active again. In the meantime, I remain in awe of what my body has manage to do once again. Every roll and stretch mark is a blessing to be counted. I have brought two healthy humans into the world and live to tell the tale.
And here they are.
I don't know how my heart can accommodate the love that I feel for them. Sometimes I can't, and I have to muster the composure not to break down. For those of you who don't have children but who are fortunate enough to have a good relationship with your parent or parents, know that sometimes it's just too much. There are times when they are suddenly overcome with their love for you and have to excuse themselves for a quick cry in the bathroom, and then return, pretending they weren't just crushed for a moment under the full weight of life and death. I do wonder how many times my own parents have wept as they stood over the foot of my bed while I slept, frantically trying to pack away all of their hopes and fears and pride for me that somehow broke loose and now flew unfettered around their heads. Pandora's box.
It is an emotional whirlwind and I expect it will remain so for the rest of my life. In these early newborn days, the hormonal shift and adjustment to a new family member make it nigh impossible for me to keep those feelings subdued at all. For me, the initial hormone crash three days after delivery hit me like a freight train.
Reality: self-portrait 3 days postpartum. Half-mad with sleeplessness, painfully swollen from crying.
Once my milk came in at 5 days postpartum I felt much more light-hearted. It was the same after Ronen was born. Emotions are still running high, but that's just how things are now, which isn't a bad thing. Something changed in me emotionally after I first became a mother in 2011. On one hand, I became much more sensitive and spook-able. On the other hand, I hardened a bit externally. Thinking about it, I believe it's a survival mechanism to maintain the safety of my children and the family unit. My patience for bullshit went out the window, and with it my ability to tolerate nonsense. I finished growing up when I became a mother. It was my transition from girlhood to being a woman, and with this comes the ever-clarifying knowledge that I'm tiny, know absolutely nothing, and owe it to myself and my babies to be better every day.
And so am I.
Trigger/content warnings for discussion and images of childbirth and the immediate postpartum period.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It thrills and amazes me to be able to say that my daughter is four weeks old today. Phil and I are currently suspended in the throes of these precious early weeks, too euphoric with adoration to care about the total exhaustion that comes with it. All we really know or care about right now is that we are in love and that we love our children and if there's an outside world, we don't need it.
What was a stressful and difficult pregnancy is now just a warm chapter of my life that I can look back on fondly, without missing it. Happily, I was rewarded with an easy (relatively speaking, of course) and joyous labour that produced the most amazing little girl. I had been having mild contractions from about 36 weeks. When I went to see my OB/GYN for my 39 week appointment on the Tuesday, I was already 3 centimetres dilated and 80% effaced. By Thursday, two days later, I went into labour in earnest by 09:30 and at 17:15 Lyla was born. I teased my OB, telling him he should be happy that I gave him a perfect 9-5 working day. He laughed and thanked me for making him look good, saying I was invited back. Alas, my child-bearing days are over now, ending on a high note.
I can't fault the care I was given. Leaving my incredible midwife in London was heartbreaking for me. She restored my confidence in myself after the turbulent birth experience I'd had with my son. We developed a strong bond and I see her more like the big sister I never had. She continued to support me from afar once I left for America, which helped my transition into the maternity care system in California. Fortune was on my side, and I was delivered into the very capable hands of the OB/GYN who had been my doctor from my late teens up until I moved to the UK. He saw me safely through the perilous waters of late pregnancy and childbirth while I was already going through intense personal trauma having to do with my travels back to the US, and I couldn't be more grateful.
Being assessed by a paediatric RN under what my dad calls the 'french fry warmer.'
After one night on the postnatal ward, we went home as a new family of four. I was a bit sore seeing as I'd torn a bit during delivery, but otherwise felt good, all in one piece. Blessedly, Lyla has been a mellow baby from the get-go. She only cries and fusses if she's tired, hungry, or uncomfortable. This is in striking contrast to her big brother, who slept minimally and screamed the house down if I even dared to consider sending him off for a nap. So Phil and I have felt pretty darned good, considering we aren't getting more than a couple of hours' sleep at a time. We are sleep deprived, but relaxed. One can't ask for more, really.
Pretty much everything has been easier this time, so far (touch wood), including breastfeeding. I had a breast reduction when I was 18, so I don't quite make a full supply of milk. However, I'm managing to boob her a good amount of the time, which is a massive relief. I hardly had any professional support after I had Ronen and struggled to breastfeed him for more than two weeks. The day after I had Lyla I asked for a visit from the hospital's lactation consultant, which wasn't brilliant, but paired with my previous experience it did the trick.
Physically, I'm finding recovery more difficult after baby number two. Firstly, SPD made it impossible for me to exercise the way I did during my pregnancy with Ronen. As as result, I gained a ton of weight and my fitness levels took a nosedive. Reconditioning my body so I have the strength to manage two children will be a priority for me once my OB/GYN gives me permission to start being active again. In the meantime, I remain in awe of what my body has manage to do once again. Every roll and stretch mark is a blessing to be counted. I have brought two healthy humans into the world and live to tell the tale.
I don't know how my heart can accommodate the love that I feel for them. Sometimes I can't, and I have to muster the composure not to break down. For those of you who don't have children but who are fortunate enough to have a good relationship with your parent or parents, know that sometimes it's just too much. There are times when they are suddenly overcome with their love for you and have to excuse themselves for a quick cry in the bathroom, and then return, pretending they weren't just crushed for a moment under the full weight of life and death. I do wonder how many times my own parents have wept as they stood over the foot of my bed while I slept, frantically trying to pack away all of their hopes and fears and pride for me that somehow broke loose and now flew unfettered around their heads. Pandora's box.
It is an emotional whirlwind and I expect it will remain so for the rest of my life. In these early newborn days, the hormonal shift and adjustment to a new family member make it nigh impossible for me to keep those feelings subdued at all. For me, the initial hormone crash three days after delivery hit me like a freight train.
Once my milk came in at 5 days postpartum I felt much more light-hearted. It was the same after Ronen was born. Emotions are still running high, but that's just how things are now, which isn't a bad thing. Something changed in me emotionally after I first became a mother in 2011. On one hand, I became much more sensitive and spook-able. On the other hand, I hardened a bit externally. Thinking about it, I believe it's a survival mechanism to maintain the safety of my children and the family unit. My patience for bullshit went out the window, and with it my ability to tolerate nonsense. I finished growing up when I became a mother. It was my transition from girlhood to being a woman, and with this comes the ever-clarifying knowledge that I'm tiny, know absolutely nothing, and owe it to myself and my babies to be better every day.
And so am I.
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